


Keep Coming to the Ghost of You

by kayisdreaming



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Blue Lions Spoilers, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Happy Ending, Lots of Angst, M/M, Spoilers, look if your relationship is as low as it can get it only improves from there, super slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 55,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23884396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayisdreaming/pseuds/kayisdreaming
Summary: After the events at Gareg Mach, everything just seemed to fall apart. Everything that Felix could ever consider reliable, shattered. Everything he could ever have faith in, gone. Including Dimitri, as much as he loathed the fact.And yet, even as every part of him wanted to abandon this, something kept pulling him back.Note: The fic fills in some of the gaps in Dimitri's and Felix's paths that are only mentioned in supports and the story. As such, it is full of spoilers. Primarily, after the end of Part One, and through all of Part Two.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 41
Kudos: 77





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter contains spoilers for the end of Part 1

It was like fire burned in his lungs with every breath, barely alleviated as Felix leaned against the sharp wood of the nearest tree. It was possibly because they had been traveling for nearly a day now without rest. It also could be because the smoke emanating from Gareg Mach reached even this far away. It didn't smother the sun here as it had there, but it was still enough to feel like nails scratching in his chest.

He tried to focus on his breathing, but even now it was hard. Just looking at the Monastery in the distance made him feel sick. The flames still burned, lighting the smoke with shades of orange and red. And the realization that accompanied it was enough to force another cough out of him.

They _lost_. The Church of Seiros had hundreds of years of preparation, a monastery built like a fortress, knights renowned throughout the land, and the best the Kingdom and Alliance had to offer. And they still lost.

Felix loathed defeat of any sort. But this was different. This wasn't just 'defeat'--this was pure obliteration. They had been outmatched, outmaneuvered, and outclassed. It was a miracle that they even managed escape, and weren't just slaughtered outright. He could still smell the blood in the air, hear desperate pleas and screams. Bitter acid lingered on his tongue and filled his senses.

"Felix?" Mercedes' voice was like a bell in the utter cacophony of his thoughts. "Are you alright?"

He could only imagine how he looked. Still covered in blood, slightly curled to protect bruised ribs and a potentially-fractured collarbone. Struggling through a lingering cough and looking paler by the second--about to hurl or faint at any moment.

Well, at least his chest no longer felt like it was about to burst. Everything just sort of ached. "I told you that you don't always have to look after me." He muttered. His voice sounded like it had been run through gravel, painful even to his own ears.

"I know." Her tone was still gentle, but it was as if it had been pulled thin around the strain of the situation and an overbearing demand for healers. "But you were hurt helping us escape. I would like very much to be able to help you."

He straightened a bit against the tree, even though it pulled at his side in an altogether unpleasant way. Slowly, he shifted so he could face her, relying perhaps a bit too much on the temporary support.

Her breathing hadn't settled completely, though she tried to hide the majority of her coughs behind her hand. If Felix had found the march difficult, it was absolutely certain that Mercedes must have found it nearly impossible. Sweat dripped down her brow and along her cheeks, carving paths in the dirt and ash that smudged on her face. She began to show the starting signs of bags under her eyes--no doubt overwhelmed and exhausted. Even her hair--always so orderly and even--began to slide from her ribbon and frazzle.

It was very likely she had been healing the unit from the very moment they had paused to finally rest.

"Just scratches, nothing to concern yourself with." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Shouldn't you be looking to the Boar?"

Her smile broke immediately, and she looked away. "I tried. But he won't let me near him."

"Tsk." Of _course_ he wouldn't. Since the Tomb, the Boar had been far from his right mind. Anything sensible, like getting his wounds cared to, would be discarded, forgotten.

This shouldn't have been any surprise, though. At Gareg Mach, Dimitri had been lancing through soldiers practically two at a time, tearing through them as if they were little more than paper. He didn't fight to protect his kinsmen. He didn't fight to help them escape. No, all he wanted was to cut a path to Edelgard.

Felix knew that Dimitri was little more than a beast craving blood. What he didn't expect was that only _her_ blood would satisfy. That nothing else would matter.

Even when Edelgard's reinforcements came crashing in like a wave. Even when they could no longer hear the Professor's guidance. Even when they lost so many of their men--people who had once been their allies and classmates. Dimitri didn't hear; he didn't care.

Felix had half a mind to leave him behind when it was clear they were being overwhelmed. But, between the fact that the Kingdom would crumble without the last heir and that there was still some residual sentiment of being the shield practically screaming in Felix's blood, he found he just _couldn't_. And so he and Sylvain had fought their way to Dimitri, digging deep into the enemies' front line.

By the time they had made it to the prince, they were uncertain if they were even _capable_ of pulling him from the field. Fortunately, his state was far worse than theirs. He was practically limping along, sheer force of will the only thing keeping him standing. He offered little resistance as they dragged him away. Of course, he had been cursing them the entire time, but at the very least with injured legs and muscles so exhausted that they were entirely past use, he couldn't _physically_ fight them.

And now he was refusing the very help that could bring him back to the battlefield. The complete fool.

With all the grace expected of a man who had been fighting for his life, followed by hours of marching--that is to say, no grace at all, and only pure rage--Felix stormed off. It didn't surprise him that Mercedes followed. Which was fine. He had a damn good idea where Dimitri would be.

He stormed to where the treeline thinned, further near the cliffside. It was an advantageous position; from here, they could see any battalions still in pursuit. They were high enough where they could avoid being seen as well, so long as they were mindful of where they stood. With their limited numbers, it was at least a temporary reprieve. But, even here, they wouldn't be able to linger long without losing any advantage.

It wasn't surprising at all to see Dimitri prowling near the edge of the cliffside, having long-since abandoned the boulder Felix and Sylvain had left him to rest against. He didn't bother to stay hidden near the trees, his dark armor clashing hard against the light dirt of the cliff's edge. A divot began to form in the dirt from his pacing.

Dimitri limped along like a dog gone rabid--the wound on his knee making his movements awkward and unbalanced. He muttered and grumbled and cursed as if it were merely a hindrance. It was entirely likely that he couldn't even feel the pain. His spear jerked around as if he might die unfulfilled if it didn't soon tear into flesh.

Back at the Academy, Felix always assumed that he would have preferred to see the beast without the mask, than watch the boar play pretend. The acid on the back of his tongue proved otherwise. This man, this thing before him, certainly _was_ the beast that Felix always loathed. But, perhaps, Felix had gotten too accustomed to its tempered state--this was different. There was no facade, no mask, no veil of pretend.

Watching him like this snapped him back to the rebellion--to the bodies and the blood and the screaming. To the creature that killed with a smile on his face. It made him shudder.

He was absolutely certain that, if it gave him a chance against Edelgard, Dimitri would sacrifice them all without even blinking.

A soft cough drew Felix's attention from the Boar. His gaze flicked over to Sylvain, who hadn't gone far from where they had left Dimitri. But he certainly wasn't within 3 lances of the prowling creature. Instead, he leaned against one of the trees. His arms rested behind his head, smile plastered on his face even as he coughed again. Acting like nothing in the world could bother him.

But that was just to fool the others. Felix knew better; Sylvain's eyes gave him away, constantly following the Boar as he moved. He'd probably come to the same conclusion Felix did, and just wanted to pretend--like a fool--that it was merely paranoia.

Ingrid likely had given up a while ago. She had been here, before. Doing what she could to help Dimitri. Offering him vulneraries (denied), even what she had saved for concoctions (also denied). Felix hadn't lingered long after that, but it was entirely likely that she had given up quickly. Not far away, he could see her and her pegasus with the other mounts. She tried to smile, but it looked positively pathetic. Felix couldn't fathom why she was even trying.

Dedue's disposition was infuriating. He just stood there, confused and cowed like a dog with a new master. One that didn't know how best to obey and please. The only person Dimitri even had the possibility of listening to, and he was doing _nothing_.

"Where _is he_?" Dimitri hissed, jaw clenched so hard that he could feasibly break his own teeth. "He should be here by now. Unless--"

"Hey, Your Highness," Sylvain sighed, running a hand through his hair, "we've been over this. This is literally the best place for us to be. If he's still out there, he'll--"

"Ah, he could already be pursuing Edelgard. With all he has managed, doubtless he can pierce her lines." Dimitri's voice was far to chipper at the thought, too enthusiastic. His head snapped back the way they had fled from. "I should join him. He is capable, but certainly it may take two to relieve Edelgard of--"

The snarl that came from Felix's mouth surprised even him. "What do you think you're _doing_ , Boar?"

Eyes snapping to him, practically crawling under his skin. In normal circumstances, he might shy away from it (certainly not flee, Felix Fraldarius did _not_ flee). Insult them as a distraction, threaten them. But nothing in the last few days had been normal. And the sheer insanity of it stoked his frustration into fury, burning away any unease and directing it at a singular source.

Dimitri, though, was entirely unfazed. He looked at Felix as if he had asked the stupidest question on the planet. "We should be rejoining the Professor. He would know--"

Felix snorted, crossing his arms. "There are three options. He's coming here, getting as far away from this place as possible, or dead. If he's not here, then he's not coming."

"Without him, we--"

" _With_ him, we _still_ lost!" The yell tore out of his throat, clawing against the sensitive skin. With a grimace, he exhaled sharply, rubbing his face. "We won't gain anything from going back."

Dimitri's gaze sharpened, eyes like ice that slices through him and left him feeling cold. He looked at Felix in the same way that he had looked at Edelgard's forces--nothing other than an enemy that stood in his way. Like snapping his neck might resolve everything he could ever want. "Then we kill Edelgard."

"How the hell does that accomplish anything!"

"We stop this before it starts."

As if it hadn't already started, ended, and was in its epilogue. As if they stood even the remotest chance of ending her without the Professor to help them. He laughed. "You may crave the slaughter, Boar, but I don't."

"Felix." Dedue's tone was stern, his frown practically audible.

"Don't defend him!" Felix spat. "At this rate, he'll wind up as a head on a pike outside Edelgard's walls, and us the corpses beneath him!"

Dimitri's laugh was mortifying. There was no mirth, no amiability. Just a sardonic bare emulation of the real thing. Reveling in this nightmare of blood and massacre. "And what would you propose? We let her do as she wishes? Waste away here while those she murdered cry out for vengeance?"

Felix jerked his head toward Mercedes, who still coughed softly behind him. "Let her heal you. We won't make it past an ambush with you half-dead and licking your wounds."

"We'll keep moving after that." Sylvain added, smiling a little. "Don't know if you've noticed, but we can't manage much with the numbers we have. Maybe with the rest of the Kingdom behind us, we could . . . you know . . . stand a chance."

Dimitri's gaze snapped between them, lips pressed together into a tight line. His fingers curled tighter around the lance in a way that made the metal squeak and press as if nothing more than cloth beneath his grasp. And then his mood dissipated back into something cold and bland. "Fine."

Whatever he was considering, it was clearly delayed for a later date.

Mercedes took the invitation immediately, passing by Felix with just the smallest smile and nod. By her haste, he imagined she was worried over the same thing he was: that soon Dimitri would disregard sense once more.

"Just be still for a little while." Mercedes' voice was soft as if she were addressing a child.

She was, however, entirely ignored. Dimitri's head snapped over toward the destruction in the distance. Felix couldn't even begin to guess what he might derive from smoke and flame and obliteration. Maybe just more fuel to stoke the flames of his rage, and justify it.

Felix ran his hand down his face. How did they even get to this point? How could it go so wrong?

True, he had always seen the Boar like this. He knew what he was well before they had attended the Officer's Academy. But, to an extent, he had somehow thought that the princely facade that Dimitri had desperately clung to had . . . at least partially mitigated the insatiable beast. Instead, this personality was like an infected wound, just festering under bandages until its extent was finally revealed. Corrupting Dimitri further at every moment.

And all it took was Edelgard's betrayal to rip off that bandage.

But it didn't make sense. There had been no logical reason for Dimitri and Edelgard to be close. Sure, they were both next-in-line for their respective thrones, but their relationship was merely competitive, amiable at best. If anything, Edelgard's betrayal was more a strike against the Church. And, while the Kingdom was loyal, it was never of any personal investment. So why was _this_ the thing that fully loosed the Boar?

"Hey." Sylvain's hand rested on his shoulder, startling him out of his thoughts. "I want to check on the others. Maybe see if the scouts came back. Wanna join me?"

Felix glanced over at the redhead, gaze sharp. Like he needed an escort to walk a few dozen feet. But . . . then again . . . when was the last time he had seen Sylvain's smile look so brittle? ". . . Fine."

Without even waiting for a response, Felix spun on his heel. There was nothing to gain from constantly subjecting himself to this. He would much rather see Annette and Ashe try to rationalize any good outcome (probably along the lines of 'well at least we're still alive!'). Sure, they'd probably somehow enlist him in their task, but counting the supplies they had managed to scrounge up was still far better than watching Dimitri slowly self-destruct. Even if Ashe started chattering about knights, it would be at least tolerable.

A hard pull on his sleeve spun him around. Felix didn't even catch his bearings fast enough to manage an expletive.

"You know," Sylvain muttered, voice soft and just edged with the roughness of a sore throat, "if you're not in top shape, we're dead men."

Felix tried to keep his tone level, but it still came out as a hiss. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Sylvain's gaze lowered to where blood had made his sleeve stiff, and where the fabric had worn thin along his side. "I'd really hate to see all that training go to waste."

Felix huffed and glanced away. "Mercedes needed to take care of the Boar."

Sylvain chuckled softly. "Well, I'm not as good as Mercedes, but would you let me give it a shot?"

"Since when did _you_ know healing magic?"

"Well . . . since things started to get really messy really fast." Sylvain's fingers traced alongside the splotch of dried blood, seeking out where it was the most dense. His fingers glowed slightly, warmth seeping into Felix's skin. It was always odd, feeling skin start to stitch itself back together. But it was by no means unpleasant, though certainly the work of an amateur.

"And," Sylvain's eyebrows knitted together, fingers moving from Felix's arm to his ribs, "here, right?". It throbbed, shooting pain down his entire side. Felix tried to resist the twitch, but he couldn't hide the hiss of pain passing his lips.

While cuts healing was fine, the sensation of fractured bone pulling back together was bizarre and uncomfortable. Felix forced himself to look away to distract himself, jaw clenched. From here, he could still see the vague outline of Dimitri's form. It was good that he was still there; that he hadn't just played complacent under watch. Then again, Mercedes _could_ be quite assertive when she wanted.

Not that she had really needed to, lately, with everyone happy to follow the Professor's guidance. Without him, though . . .

"The Professor's dead, isn't he?" Felix asked, swallowing.

Sylvain shrugged, biting his lip as he shifted slightly higher to the dense collection of bruises on Felix's shoulder. Here, the unpleasant sensation of mending bone was far worse, making Felix teeter toward nausea. "Probably. _We_ shouldn't even had made it out with the numbers we did."

He wanted Sylvain to argue. He wanted some of that stupid optimism, that dumb smile. He didn't want him to so readily agree.

Of those still left, the Professor had been the only person remotely capable of keeping them together and alive. He knew their strengths and weaknesses. He knew strategies and methods they could never dream of. He had created bonds between them that otherwise would have been ignored completely. He had been everything the Blue Lions were lacking. Without him . . .

Felix's throat felt tight. His chest felt as if an entire building had collapsed on him, making it impossible to breathe. He bit the inside of his cheek to try and stay grounded. He failed. "We're going to die, aren't we?"

Sylvain's hum was soft, but noncommittal. "Eventually. Personally, I'm hoping it's when I'm old and in bed with two _really_ beautiful ladies on either side of me. Hoping for at least one brunette."

Felix snorted, the echo of a smile at the edge of his lips. "You're disgusting."

"You know me, I'm predictable." Sylvain's smile eased the pressure, if only slightly. Damn him, being good at that. He patted Felix's arm, the sensation of magic dissipating. "Like how I know you won't die without a fight."

"Well," Felix sighed, "I made it this far."

"Exactly." Sylvain straightened, running a hand through his hair. It very nearly stayed back by sweat alone. He wiped his face, though it really only spread the grime and dust. Still wasn't the worst Sylvain had ever looked.

Sylvain's smile fell as he looked over toward the cliff. "Do you think His Highness will come back?"

With the Professor, there had been a chance. There were moments, even if only a few, where it seemed Dimitri might be able to be saved. Where even Felix slipped and had forgotten. Where he had thought that his old friend might actually survive the Boar.

But, without the professor, that chance was gone.

Felix pulled his arm away, shaking his head. "He was never there to begin with."

Even as they were nearing the capital, no more than a week away, the unease in Felix's chest refused to dissipate. For all intents and purposes, he knew they should be safe. Sure, with war lingering on the horizon, the safety was temporary. But the chance that they could be surrounded and overwhelmed was incredibly unlikely. And their pursuers had given up a while ago.

But his nerves were on overdrive, making him twitchy and anxious. He jumped at every noise, overreacted to nearly every possible threat. It made sleep impossible.

Then again, perhaps the lack of sleep was the _source_ of his anxiety, and not the other way around. Their group's numbers had been rapidly reduced as students retreated back to their homes, aiming to warn their families and protect that which mattered to them. Only a few who actually needed to be in the capital still lingered. Dimitri, Dedue, Sylvain, Ingrid, Felix, and a few other students were all that were left.

Which meant that his tent was inescapably close to Dimitri's. There was no way to avoid Dimitri's endless prowling all hours of the night, muttering to himself and to people obviously not there.

The first time, Felix tried to ignore it. It was too irregular to try and drown out with sheer stubbornness. Too loud to block out with his hands or cloak. He very nearly smothered himself under his impromptu pillow in an attempt to get even a minute of sleep.

When it was clear he wasn't going to have the chance, he decided to listen in. Every night, Dimitri merely bolstered his rage with the deaths of those he cared about. A new one every night as he thrust the blame upon Edelgard. Their allies in Gareg Mach, the Professor, his father, and then Glenn.

It took every ounce of restraint Felix had to not storm into his tent and punch him square in the nose. Maybe put in enough force to _make_ Dimitri sleep so Felix could finally have the opportunity.

But he had to remind himself that this wasn't Dimitri. It was the Boar. A creature who would probably be incapable of recognizing Felix storming into his tent. Who would rip him in two as he would any enemy. Maybe not even mourn him when he realized who he was.

It wasn't worth it. It wasn't worth it to die just because Glenn was being invoked as a tool for vengeance. But being awake all night and likewise nonproductive was unbearable, even if he wasn't purposely staying awake.

Felix's solution was simple: he offered to handle the watch while the others slept. After all, they could be safe from the Empire, but they were still prime targets for bandits and mercenaries and the like.

Sure, the others protested that he watch _all_ night, since he needed sleep, too. He didn't have the strength to tell him that he wasn't sleeping anyway. Those nights, he would just return to his tent and try to sleep, even if it inevitably ended in failure. But at least a distraction for half the night was a distraction all the same.

With a sigh, Felix put another few sticks onto the fire. It was a potential risk, having this minor beacon. But they needed it for food. And it was better to be able to fight with a little light than swing around weapons in the dark. Even if it didn't help the growing headache.

"Mm, night passes too fast." Ingrid muttered, words blending a bit together under a yawn. "I could use another hour."

"Then go back to sleep." Felix muttered, unable to hide the venom in his voice. "What good is a sleeping guard?"

"That's not necessary." Ingrid sighed. She sounded more tired than annoyed. No, tired was wrong. She was drained, emotionless. "You really need to sleep."

"I'm fine." Felix glared at the flames. Like it was the fire's fault he was being such an ass.

There was the gentle sliding noise of armor and shifting dirt as Ingrid came to sit beside him. From here, he could still feel the slight residual warmth from sleep emanating off of her. She was too close. But to move away would admit defeat.

"Well, it's my job to keep watch." She said, shrugging. "I couldn't make you leave if I wanted."

Felix snorted in response.

"So . . . you can help, or . . ." Slowly, gently, her elbow nudged his side. "Maybe it can be like when were were kids. Just for a little bit?"

"We're not children anymore."

No, it wasn't just that. The world wasn't like it had been when they were kids. They were nothing like those children anymore. Felix was no longer the little child who used to giggle with Ingrid over the chivalric tales his brother read, pressed hard against each other as they struggled against sleep. Smiling and open as Dimitri joined their pile, and Glenn carrying the whole mess to bed. Glenn was dead. Dimitri was lost forever.

"Obviously. But . . . what harm would it do?"

What harm, indeed? He could think of a dozen different ways. But . . . but perhaps the nostalgia could lure him to sleep, just far enough away from Dimitri's nightly routine. Perhaps just a little rest could make the throbbing in his head go away.

Perhaps he could pretend, just a little. "Only because that Boar is making it impossible to even close my eyes."

Ingrid smiled, shifting so her shoulder was more accessible to him. "I won't tell, I promise. I'll be sure to wake you before the others even stir."

Felix hummed a response, slowly lowering his head onto her shoulder. She was far bonier than she had been when they were kids. All sharp angles and no more baby fat. But still, her breathing was so familiar, like a lullaby. The warmth off of her like a childhood blanket.

With just the barest hint of a smile, Felix drifted off to sleep.

  
  


A few days later (and with considerably more rest), the weight was almost completely gone with the sight of Fhirdiad in the distance. Just beyond the tree line. No more than a half-day's journey away. True, they weren't entirely out of this, but it was a miracle they had made it this far.

Felix let out a shaky exhale. There was still so much left to do, though. Gareg Mach was in the center of everything. With a properly-prepared army, the Empire could siege Fhirdiad and overwhelm it within a matter of weeks. The regent wasn't always reliable, but surely he could understand this. Possibly he would even know the best path to take.

Dimitri scowled, glaring at Fhirdiad in the distance. As if it was the city's fault for still being so far away. "We will be able to advance on Edelgard immediately, once I convince my uncle." He tapped his chin with his gauntlet. "Perhaps, we can get forces from the rest of the country, and--"

"You're joking." Felix snarled, whirling on Dimitri immediately.

Dimitri blinked down at Felix, expression unreadable. "We squash her, we destroy this little rebellion. It's remarkably simple."

"Oh, yes, _brilliant_." Felix clenched his fists. "In case you forgot, she decimated Gareg Mach--overwhelmed the strongest army on this continent--and you want to advance on her right when she's at her strongest?!"

"And what would you have us do, Felix?" Dimitri's tone was nearly as sharp as his glare. "Let her continue to conquer and kill and ravage this continent? Just allow her to walk up to our doorstep?"

"No! Of course not!" He couldn't resist his petulant stomp. "I would have us reinforce ourselves! Ready ourselves!"

"Ah, yes, and let her fill our rivers with Faerghus blood, and raze our fields with fire?"

"Hey, that's not what he said." Sylvain raised his hands, as if the placating gesture might calm the beast. "Just . . . maybe we should take it easy and--"

Dimitri whirled on Sylvain. "And _what_ , Sylvain?"

Sylvain winced. "Maybe Felix has the right idea. We'll have a better advantage on our own turf. Might be easier to turn the tides in our favor."

Dimitri scoffed, turning to look at Fhirdiad once more. "What has the world come to, taking the advice of a man who knows nothing but chasing skirts?"

"Your Highness," Ingrid frowned, "that isn't fair. You know that isn't fair. And it's not fair to our people to just take everyone and attack. Our people will be defenseless. They'll be vulnerable. We can't just let them die on a chance."

"Ha!" Dimitri's laugh was harsh and cruel. "And ignore those she has already massacred?"

Felix snarled. "And you would ignore those still alive!"

It was clear, now. The prince who loved his country was gone. Sure, he may have hidden his motives under the guise of protection, but it was all fluff. Dimitri didn't care. He would never care. He would leave a trail of blood and death in his wake, and it didn't matter whose blood it was so long as Edelgard's joined it.

This was not a man Felix would follow. He _couldn't_ , not in good conscience. He spun on his heel, beginning to grab his things. He didn't have much in his possession: a bedroll, some coins, a now tattered and abused cloak, a pouch of jerky.

"What are you doing?" Dimitri hissed.

"Do this on your own." Felix put the things in his horse's saddlebag. Nothing he had taken would have any real impact on the others; he could make sure of that. "I'm going to Fraldarius. Unlike you, I want my people to survive this."

A part of him wanted Dimitri to make him stop. To ask him to stay. To look at him with that face that always so desperately wanted to be forgiven, understood. To even just say his name, as if his absence had an impact.

But Dimitri did none of that. "Do as you wish." He turned, guiding his horse toward the path to Fhirdiad.

Ingrid pulled at her pegasus' reins, expression tight. "Your Highness . . ."

"I don't need or _want_ those who have no faith in me." Dimitri snarled, the growl nearly feral. "You are dismissed."

Her voice cracked. "Wait, please--"

"I don't need you."

Felix scowled as Dimitri vanished out of sight. He had expected this. He had known that they were disposable. That eventually Dimitri would leave them or abandon them.

And yet it still hurt. Like an ache in his chest. Maybe it was whatever was left of that child in him, the one that still held hope that Dimitri would come back. Maybe it was that child dying within him. Leaving only Felix as he was now.

He shook his head, pulling his horse toward Fraldarius. He didn't need this foolishness.

He had a war to survive.

  
  


  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter takes place between the end of Part One and the beginning of Part 2. During the front end of that 5 year gap.

"Welcome back, my lord."

Felix's response was little more than a grunt as he dismounted his horse. He had never really been keen on riding them. But conflicts had sprung up all across Fraldarius territory at an alarming rate. Without a mount, he would never make it to any of them in time. So he'd tolerate it out of sheer necessity.

Occasionally, conflicts were comprised of daemonic beasts and minor Adrestian units that thought it wise to put any pressure on the Fraldarius border. But Fraldarius was well prepared there; such assaults were inevitable and expected. And, on familiar grounds, their losses were generally minimal. Felix's presence there was more for morale than for an experienced hand in battle.

The biggest problem was bandits. With all of the nobles in minor chaos, unsure of the best path for their territory, the smaller villages were prime targets. With the season and the suddenness of this situation, their preparation for the standard winter issues was insufficient for the constant assault. Sure, they had some guards to fight against bandits--house Fraldarius did its best to keep its people protected--but there certainly weren't enough to manage this magnitude.

There was no possible way for this to be random--he was certain. The clothing wasn't thick enough to keep any of them warm for the season. The armor was designed more to handle magic than to handle lances--a known Faerghus specialty. The weapons certainly didn't match the craftsmanship of any of the territory's blacksmiths. And they fought _horribly_ \--it was as if they were amateurs, unused to the snow and the forest and practically everything that anyone Faerghus-born would practically be born knowing.

He suspected that they were Adrestian plants. Meant to sneak in and cause conflict while the bulk of the forces were distracted at the border. If there was enough unrest, the nobles of Fraldarius would be murdered by their own people.

It took all Felix had to keep that from being true. Fortunately, for now, they seemed to still trust him--to still trust his father. But he wasn't certain how long that might last.

"Is the old man in?" He asked, lips pressed together. Loathe as he was to admit it, his father needed to know. Perhaps it was something they could cut off early. And, unfortunately, he would have a better idea how.

Besides, it was clear that they weren't going to get help from anywhere else.

"He's speaking with a messenger from the Capitol."

Felix blinked, passing along the reins to one of the stable hands. "What for?"

"I'm . . . not sure, sir. The man would only speak with the Duke."

He sighed heavily. He was exhausted. He'd been at this for weeks now, only resting whenever he could slide it in. And that was less frequent every day. That slight echo of a headache was threatening again. It made him irate, knowingly unpleasant. In normal circumstances, he wouldn't have nearly enough patience to deal with his father.

The servant cleared his throat. "Should I . . . have the side hall opened, sir?"

A part of him wanted to say yes. To just dodge around his father and deal with the consequences later. But it had been _months_ since they had heard anything from Fhirdiad. All of their letters were left without response. Recently, all messengers began to report that they couldn't even get _into_ the Capitol. And they couldn't even address anyone who had come out.

They were stuck in the dark, and the constant conflict had practically forced them to accept that.

This news, though, was just the faintest flicker of light. Just enough to make him hope. Hope that maybe the regent had a plan to address Adrestia's invasions. Maybe there was finally news of _something_ that would help the Kingdom survive.

More optimistically, maybe Dimitri was able to get some _semblance_ of the prince back, being surrounded by all of the castle's trappings. Sure, the boar would not be gone entirely. Felix could accept that. Hell, he'd even _prefer_ that infuriating mask Dimitri always had on. The mask had sense. And he was rapidly discovering that he would be more willing to follow that than have nothing at all.

"That's unnecessary." He muttered. It was better to hear the message directly. To keep it from being diluted with his father's foolish ideals of chivalry and honor. Things always did manage to get ridiculous whenever it regarded Dimitri. "I'll be back shortly to handle the rest of my gear."

Snow crunched beneath his boots as he walked from the stable to the main entrance of the Fraldarius manor. His steps stood out against the white blanket--normally the snow was so trampled by the passing knights and staff that it hardly showed at all against the gravel. _Now_ , though, it was almost impossible to tell there was anything _but_ snow beneath. Only a foot print here and there from where his father's knights had taken their orders and departed no more than a few hours before.

The door flew open before he could even grab it, the warm air dragging with it shouts and two very irate men. Years of practice allowed him to sidestep both, though barely. If he were without another night's sleep, he certainly would have lost his nose to the door.

One of the men was his father, face red and eyes practically glimmering with his rage. The other was quite likely the messenger, a rather bizarre combination of meekness and irritation plastered on his face.

"They will not allow you in!" The messenger urged. "The instructions were--"

"Damn the instructions!" His father hissed.

Felix blinked. When was the last time he had seen his father angry? He couldn't recall. Things that should have spurred emotion rarely ever did. His father was always reserved, to the point where it was irritatingly apparent that he didn't care. At best he could manage irritation, but usually that was whenever Felix gave him the cold shoulder.

To be like this was . . . startlingly unusual.

It might . . . be safer to return to this when his father was more under control. He wasn't really sure how to handle two unstable Fraldariuses. Certainly the manor hadn't endured it since his brother was still alive and picking fights. Which meant Felix was clueless. He stepped to enter where they had left.

"Felix." A hand clamped down on his shoulder _hard_. On reflex, he tried to shrug it off, but fingers curled firmly into his sleeve. And, when Felix tried to pull away, there was no give.

"What do you want?" Felix hissed, turning his face just enough to catch his father's gaze. He tried to keep his expression cool, unaffected. But there was no hiding the venom in his tone.

If his father noticed, he didn't react. "We are departing for the Capitol immediately."

Felix tried to pull away again, but it wasn't working. At least not without tearing his shirt. And that would border on _too_ dramatic. "You realize we're barely managing as is." He _tsked_ in irritation. "Or perhaps you're unaware of our situation on the--"

"Prince Dimitri's been executed."

Felix felt his mouth go dry, throat tight. It felt like his heart was in his throat. Maybe not even beating. His complaints faded into obscurity. He couldn't even recall what he _had_ been saying.

Maybe he heard it wrong.

"What?" His voice sounded so far away. He wasn't even sure it _was_ his voice.

His father's expression was slowly coming under control, but Felix could still see the rage simmering behind his eyes. "They accused him of the Regent's murder. Imprisoned him. When he tried to escape, they executed him for it."

Felix gaped. He hadn't been gone that long. At week at most. Since _when_ had the Regent been killed? How, even? And how could they so quickly blame Dimitri? There was no possible way, under any reasonable circumstance, that it could have soured so quickly.

Yes, it was true that Dimitri was unhinged. It was horribly optimistic to think that he was returning to his senses. Felix couldn't say, with absolute certainty, that the Boar wouldn't do such a thing. There was no guarantee that Dimitri would have stopped if the Regent denied his request for soldiers. And, if the Regent decided to be an obstacle--

No, that wasn't right.

Dimitri may have been unhinged. He may have been untamed, nearly uncontrollable when he rampaged. But Dimitri was not stupid. Well, not _that_ stupid. Even at his most unstable, he would have known that killing the Regent wouldn't make him king. It would have been obvious that killing the Regent would have stripped every possible resource and opportunity away from him. Would have made his revenge impossible.

He would know that it would have been better to run off on his own, make his own little rebellion. It was almost what Felix _expected_ him to do.

Maybe something he would have joined.

"Are you sure?" He asked, words shaky.

"No." He father glanced back at the messenger with a frown, shaking his head. "I will accept nothing until I see his body."

"I am sorry, Duke Fraldarius." The messenger said, sounding anything but sorry. "But the castle will remain closed until we have regained a sense of order during this chaos."

His father spun on the man like a feral wolf. "And you would deny us any reconciliation of our Prince's death!"

The messenger shrunk a bit. "It was ordered, sir." He swallowed. "In times like these, we must make sense of the chaos. Otherwise, the Empire might . . ."

"Get out of my sight."

"Sir--"

" _Now_."

Felix watched as the man scurried off to the stables, rapidly out of view. In mere moments, his horse was flying from the Fraldarius estate. Hardly surprising. With news like that, he was unlikely to find a friendly place here. Even if it wasn't really his fault.

"This cannot be real . . ." His father rubbed at his temples, looking paler by the second. "Cannot possibly . . ."

As much as he loathed to admit it, Felix agreed with his father. It couldn't be real. It was absolutely impossible. There was no way that Dimitri could kill the Regent. No way he could be blamed for a murder. No way he could be killed by his own people.

No way Dimitri could be dead.

But . . . but there had also been no one there to stop him. None of them had fought him when they were dismissed. No one tried to get Dimitri to see sense--not enough, anyway. Had they actually tried, they would have been there to help him.

If Felix had just tried a little harder . . . Dimitri wouldn't even have beenin this position at all.

He could have been there. He could have constantly reminded the boar of the _obligations_ his other face had. He could have distracted him with taunting and spars and literally anything. He was good at being an ass, even unintentionally, so certainly he could have kept Dimitri's attention. Especially since, being uncertain of what the beast would have done, he would have had Dimitri under constant surveillance.

If Dimitri _had_ killed the Regent, Felix would have been able to get in the way and stop him. If he hadn't, Felix would have been the one person who would have known, who would have defended him.

"To think," his father sighed heavily, gaze gone distant, "I would have failed my promise . . ."

Whatever barrier there was, whatever it was that had allowed him to somewhat sympathize with his father, shattered.

Violently, he yanked his arm away. There was not nearly as much resistance as he had expected. "Who cares for a promise made to a dead man?!"

"Felix!" His father's eyebrow twitched in annoyance, but whatever irritation there was faded to a bland emptiness. He looked away. "What will you do?"

Felix blinked, taking a step back. Wasn't it obvious? "They said he tried to escape."

"Yes."

"There's no way they could have killed a cornered beast. I'm going to find him."

Felix had been rapidly finding that easier said than done.

He had managed to sneak into Fhirdiad, the guards distracted by a growing number of enraged merchants and demanding nobles. It was remarkably easy--he had been running around the city grounds since his youth, laughing as he chased after Dimitri, both eager to escape their lessons and responsibility. The cracks they had used to escape back then were still there, and Felix was still small enough to fit within them (the _only_ good outcome of his stature).

But the streets there seemed to be no different than the normal. Sure, the market seemed thin, but the people there had accepted it as a necessity of the incoming war. Reduce imports to eliminate the chance of Adrestian spies. Perfectly logical.

But almost everything else was normal. There was no chaos. No disorder. Nothing one would expect from the death of a Regent and the demise of their future king.

In the tavern, he learned why. They still thought Prince Dimitri was strategizing with his uncle. Trying to come up with the most beneficial strategy for their people. There was no news of an attack. Nor of a murder. Nor of an execution.

The only real sign something was wrong was among the soldiers' whispers. Especially around the castle grounds. It was obvious that they were distracted, uncertain. Soldiers with that disposition made for poor guards. Felix wasn't the best at stealth, but they didn't so much as notice him. Which made it easy to listen in.

"Have you told any one else?" One whispered.

"No. Lady Cornelia said--"

"Yeah, but, this is . . . different . . . isn't it?"

"Look, you saw what the Prince did. I'll take her over . . . over _that_."

If he were his father, he would have cared. Would have stormed the castle and demanded an explanation. But that wasn't what he was here for. If the government was so broken that it couldn't even admit it's prince's demise during war, that its people allowed a mere _mage_ to take control on a whim,then it wasn't worth his time.

And if Dimitri was alive, he wasn't there. So Felix had moved on.

It had become obvious that things were as bad in the other regions of Faerghus as they had been in Fraldarius. Bandits were running rampant, and not all the nobles were addressing it as effectively as Felix and his father had been.

If he made it in time, Felix helped against the assault. He fought against the bandits, both pleased and annoyed that many were unskilled and easy to end. He was fortunate that the villagers would host him for the night. Provide him some goods to survive off of. Let him rest somewhere safe and warm.

In some cases, he would hear tales. Tales of other raids nearby. Of those stopped by this mystical creature that could tear apart men as if they were no more than paper. It never stayed in the village, never took anything they offered--never even speak--only targeted the bandits.

Some thought it a bear, or a daemonic beast. A hulking creature made of black fur. Tinged with the blood that it spilled on the snow. Felix would listen, rapt. Ask if they knew where it was. But to them, it was a mystery. A myth. Clearly something he would have to track on his own.

More often than he would like, he was too slow to save them. Many towns were crippled. Those were unfriendly to him, even if they had no way to force him away. He didn't push his luck there. With Fhirdiad closed, there was no way they would survive long enough to see the Spring.

Closer to the border, many villages were ravaged, practically burned to the ground. There was nothing to gain there. The first few times, he looked for survivors; none. Occasionally shifted through the ash, hoping he might find a clue. But it was stupid. If they had all died, then no beast had come to save them.

His breath puffed out in shaky clouds against the night sky. Even huddled up in an outcropping of rock, around a small fire, cloak wrapped tight around his shoulders, he was _cold_. It shouldn't be this cold in Spring, and yet here he was, shivering like a child. He pulled up his hood, at the very least hoping that his ears wouldn't fall off in the night.

His stomach grumbled. Though futile, he put another stick on the fire in the hope the crackling would drown it out. A part of him wanted to take some of the remaining rations in his pouch. The more rational side knew he still had to ration it for two more days, and likely even more than that. He was further from the border, sure, but that didn't mean that Adrestia hadn't managed some influence here.

What was he _doing_?

It was almost funny. He had been chasing this beast for over a year now. After the first couple months, he had returned to Fraldarius, defeated. Knowing that abandoning his home and the knights in a vain search would make him no better than the Boar had been. Than Dimitri _was_.

But his father had been receptive to his (admittedly begrudgingly-relayed) tales. Had encouraged him to seek this creature out, once the knights were stable enough to focus on the more predictable targets of these 'bandits'. Sure, Fraldarius was by no means safe, but it was still far enough from the Dukedom and Adrestia that it could afford some time to its people.

And it was worth the difficulty if it meant they had a chance of their Prince returning.

But that was assuming that this creature even _was_ Dimitri. Felix could never grasp any concrete details--just a creature in black fur, ferocious and impossibly strong. There was no guarantee that it wasn't just a bear . . . though bears were never really selective with their targets.

But, if it was a man, then wouldn't he have found an obvious sign _eventually_? Wouldn't there have been something more than tall tales? Wouldn't there have been something so _obviously_ Dimitri?

"Ah." He chuckled. Perhaps there was.

Dimitri had always been obscenely strong. After all, how many blades of Felix's as he broken as a mere child? How many things had he accidentally shattered at the Academy in his carelessness? Would it not be so obviously him, maybe the Boar let loose? Reined to the point where it only targeted those that harmed its kin? Thirsting for any blood remotely Adrestian?

It used to sicken him, thinking like that--and it still did, a little--but . . .

The shift of grass drew his gaze, even though he stilled. There was no wind. In this area, the only creatures around were hares and foxes and creatures of that sort. The intruder was bigger than that. And clumsy.

His hand shifted, fingers curling around his blade as he stood.

Instinct took control as the shimmer of an arrowhead reflected from his fire. He dodged just to the side, bringing up his blade as a dagger sliced down just at the edge of his peripherals. A quick parry, followed by the familiar sound of his blade through flesh.

More noise, more blades. A magic spell, easily spun around as another swordsman tried to strike at him. The magic pierced the mage's ally, making him easy to strike down. Felix ran across the impromptu battlefield, slicing down hard and quickly. Had he believed the goddess cared, he would have thanked her for his fire. It made blades stand out, made his attackers easy targets. Practice and skill made it easy to cull them.

Soon, perhaps too quickly, the battle ended. Panting softly, Felix flicked off the blood and sheathed his blade. Six bodies around him. None of their gear particularly advanced, from what he could tell. Likely the same sort of men like those in Fraldarius, even though he was so far from its borders.

Which meant that he had become a target. Good. He could use the practice.

With a sigh, he slid down back into his spot. The area around it was covered in blood, but his spot for the night still seemed mostly clean. Not that he personally had been careful enough to avoid the splatter.

Well, at least he wasn't cold anymore.

_"I-I didn't mean to!" Dimitri stammered, face red and eyes already shining. He could never resist crying if Felix was already bawling. "Please don't cry!"_

_"That was my favorite!" Felix complained, rubbing at his eyes. It didn't stop the overflow of tears, nor did it really even wipe them away. It was well past the point of that._

_"I know! I'm so sorry!" He looked down at the shattered remnants of Felix's sword in his hands. One identical to all of the other swords Felix had. Fool that he was, he didn't even question why_ this _one was special. "Please--I'll do anything to make it up to you!"_

 _Felix sniffled. "You mean it?" It wasn't about the sword. It_ never _was about the sword._

_"I promise!" Dimitri said, dropping the sword's pieces to put his hands on Felix's shoulders. His expression was about as serious as an eight year old could muster. "I never want to make you cry."_

_Felix's lip pursed out in a small pout. "Then . . . you have to stay till you make it up to me."_

_Dimitri faltered. "I don't think I can stop father from taking me home today."_

_The bawling began again._

_"I-I've got it!" Dimitri stammered. "I will make it up to you. Even if I have to owe you for life. I will absolutely, positively, make it up to you before I die."_

_"That's a long time." Felix muttered, pathetic._

_"W-well . . . I won't make you cry again till I do, then. I promise."_

Felix let out a slow breath as he opened his eyes. The bodies had begun to turn, making the air begin to go rancid. Scavengers would be in soon. Drying blood tickled the hairs on his cheeks. Felix rubbed at them, annoyed to find them damp. The morning dew, _obviously_.

"Liar." Felix muttered.

With a grunt, he pulled his satchel over his shoulder, kicking dirt over the dimly-glowing ashes of his fire. His skin stung, minor cuts sensitive to fabric shifting and cold brushing over where it hadn't all night. He huffed, glancing down at his sleeve, where a few minor tears stood out a bit too much for his likely. A little splotch of crimson stood out against the white.

It seemed his attackers had made a few lucky hits. Nothing particularly threatening, no more than a shallow cut here and there. A minor burn above his wrist. Minor as they were, it was disconcerting that he hadn't noticed till now. He should have seen it as it happened. At the very least, he should have tended to them after the battle was done.

Perhaps he had been out too long. It was time to return home, get some rest, and--

A familiar glimmer caught his attention. Not particularly in the color, but in the shape. Swallowing, Felix closed the gap between himself and the nearest body.

He had been wrong. In the night, it was easy to mistake this gear as that of the other bandits. But this was different. Built sturdy. Of thick leather and fur to block out the cold. Capes and hoods were torn and spattered with blood, but they were still there. And the sword . . . he recognized it as one common to the western side of Faerghus. Lighter, easier to work with on a mount. Meant to make rides and combat easier on the lengthy plains. Meant for knights protecting broad boarders.

And on his coat, the sigil of House Gideon.

It didn't make sense. He hadn't been acting in any way common to bandits or marauders. He, specifically, had been keeping a low profile. It was better that way, when he was hunting the beast. It always seemed to vanish whenever he got too much attention. And, probably more importantly, he was nowhere near Gideon's borders.

So why would _he_ be targeted?

No, maybe it was a mistake. Knight gone rogue. Or . . . bandit who killed a knight and took his armor. With a _tch_ he looked to the others. He had to be sure.

But they were all the same, too.

He _needed_ to return home.

He tossed the bloodstained sigil on his father's desk, tarnishing the papers piled high.

With a frown, his father's gaze flicked up to Felix, then down to the small metal item as he picked it up between his fingers. "You weren't supposed to go as far as Gideon. Did his trail lead you there?"

Felix looked away. He could keep to business so long as he didn't look at the irritating man. "I lost the trail between Galatea and Charon."

"Then why--"

"I was attacked in Galatea."

He could feel his father's gaze upon him. Burning, heavy. Almost unbearable.

"In the night. They came like bandits."

His father sighed heavily. "I was afraid of this."

Felix's gaze snapped over despite his best intentions. The old man looked pale, concerned. "Of what?"

There was a long pause. An uncharacteristic hesitation. "Gautier was concerned over some . . . rumors his son had . . . obtained when he was last in Fhirdiad."

Meaning he flirted with a knight, used some honeyed words, and probably a few other tricks to get what he needed. He always complained about girls using him, so it wouldn't be surprising if he tried the opposite. Not surprising, but still repulsive. "And?"

"Cornelia handed Faerghus to Adrestia. The . . . Faerghus Dukedom, they called it."

Felix twitched, hand going to his blade on instinct. "You're _joking_."

His father rubbed this face, elbows pressing against his desk. His hair shadowed his expression. The metal insignia clattered against the wood as he dropped it.

"Find him." Rodrigue said, voice dark. "We soon won't have the time to."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, come bother me on Twitter [@kayisdreaming ](https://twitter.com/kayisdreaming)  
> 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Events in this chapter span between the end of Part One and the end of Chapter 14.

It was odd; even though everything had changed, time just seemed to blend together. It didn't matter what his purpose was; it was always the same: roaming the territories, taking shelter from the Adrestians and the Dukedom, resting in safe towns (fewer and fewer each month), and returning to the Fraldarius estate with his results. Hunting the Beast and fighting the Dukedom always had the same path.

Each cycle made it more and more obvious that he had just been hopelessly optimistic. To think that this war might be resolved quickly, or that Dimitri might make a heroic appearance like the prince he always pretended to be--it was childish. Foolish.

It was better to let his expectations slowly dissolve into nothing. To perform merely because it was his duty. To fight solely because doing otherwise would only end in death. If his hopes were anything greater than nothing at all, then the disappointment would become overwhelming.

He let out a slow breath, wiping down his blade. He couldn't remember how many of his once-kinsmen he had killed with this. How many of those were people he had once fought alongside, or who he had once been dispatched to help. How many of them had once been his classmates.

It should have bothered him. The blood on his hands should have kept him awake. But it didn't. What unsettled him, really, was the very _fact_ that it didn't.

Hadn't he hated Dimitri for the same thing?

Felix glanced up. The fire was still going strong, casting tall shadows against the surrounding trees. Across from him, Sylvain was propped up against a fallen log, arms behind his head as he looked up at the stars. Ingrid was just a bit off to his right, leaning against her pegasus and staring at the fire.

He still wasn't used to their presence. Or . . . anyone's really.

When he was handling the Dukedom's and Adrestia's assaults, his words were often limited to commands on the battlefield. He didn't bother with bonding with the soldiers--most of the time they weren't his, and most of the time he knew he would never see them again. And his reputation made it easy enough for them to want to avoid him as much as possible, too.

When it came to hunting for the Beast, he was used to traveling alone. Of being left with his own thoughts, going with his own whims. If he couldn't sleep, then he could just keep moving. Following the signs and moving on--if he didn't sleep too long, then he might stand a chance of catching up. The most he bothered with was the occasional conversation with a villager to pull _any_ sign--but most of the time they were about as tactful as he was, so that didn't really count.

But, after three years of war--of an increasing number of the Dukedom invasions, of limping back to Fraldarius with painful wounds healed just enough to survive--solo travel was no longer an option.If the Kingdom was to endure, Fraldarius' last heir needed to live, too. Galatea and Gautier were in a similar position. So, from a tactical standpoint, it made sense. _Apparently_.

Which meant no more nighttime travel. No more desperate grasping at straws. No more seeking out Adrestian soldiers to fight just because it was _their fault_ this had happened in the first place.

A part of Felix wanted to just drive them away. To be as infuriating as possible. There was no value in having others around. There was only loss and frustration. And the Beast slipping through his fingers.

"You know," Ingrid sighed, idly running her fingers through her pegasus' mane, "the Millennium Festival is next year."

"Doubt it." Sylvain chuckled, not looking away from the sky. "Hard to have a festival without an Archbishop."

"It's not--I'm not talking about the festival." Ingrid huffed, lip twitching. "You know that."

"You just said--"

"What I _mean_ is . . ." She glanced away. Her fingers paused as she thought. "We did make a promise."

"Gareg Mach is a ruin." Felix snorted. "Likely swarming with Adrestian soldiers. No one in their right mind will go there."

She sighed. "We could."

Sure, they _could_. But what was the point? If the others had kept the promise, there was nothing to gain from seeing them there. The very thing that had brought them together was now little more than rubble and ash--there was no Blue Lion House. Everything good they'd inevitably want to reminisce about was tainted, poisoned by the cold turns of fate. And, likewise, the times had probably been so equally cold to them that there was a good chance none of them were anything like the people they had once been.

Besides, the only person who had so desperately wanted it was . . .

He sheathed his blade. "Why bother?"

Sylvain sighed heavily, wrapping his arms around his knees. "You think His Highness will show up?"

"I mean . . ." Ingrid swallowed, "he _could_."

"He won't." Felix ignored the way their gazes snapped to him. Instead, he looked to the sun starting to rise over the horizon.

"You can't know that."

"He didn't come when Cornelia took over. He didn't come when we lost half the country to the _Dukedom_ _._ And he's not coming now, even when we've been fighting for years. Why the _hell_ would he bother with something as foolish as a promise?!"

"What other options do we have?!" Ingrid yelled, jumping to her feet so quickly that it startled her pegasus. As if catching herself, she looked away again, trying to soothe the startled animal. "We're losing. If something doesn't change soon . . ." Her voice sounded strained, as if she might cry.

"What would he change?" Felix muttered, his words uncertain. The answer was obvious: if there was even the slightest bit of Dimitri left--even _with_ the Boar--it would be all they needed. Someone to rally behind. Someone to trust and follow. Someone who might actually be able to remind the Dukedom of what they all had been fighting for. In short: it would change _everything_.

"Hey . . . no need to fight about this." Sylvain said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. He wasn't even bothering to look at them. It was so half-hearted that it was _infuriating_. "Look, it's still a year off. Maybe we'll make some headway before then. But, you know, if not . . . it wouldn't hurt for the three of us to just . . . go there?"

Felix scoffed. "Why?"

Sylvain shrugged. "Well, worst case, we wind up dwindling the Adrestian numbers a bit." The edge of his lips quirked up in a bare imitation of a smile. "Speaking of . . ."

Frowning, Felix followed his gaze. In the distance, not terribly far off, was the soft glow of a fire. A few of them close together, by the look of it. Which meant that it was an established camp. At least a dozen.

Sylvain hummed. "How about we get some of this pent-up frustration out of our systems?"

  
  


They came in downwind from the camp and from the treeline, taking care to avoid notice too soon. It was agonizing to take such slow steps, but to rush in surely would get them overwhelmed. Felix listened intently, hoping for a decent estimate. But the camp was quiet--unusually so. No roaming guards. No chatter or laughter or whispers. No sounds of sleep.

Sylvain motioned for them to move in. If it was an empty camp, then they could take the supplies. It would cripple the soldiers, and provide their own some extra security over the coming months. Such an opportunity still couldn't be missed--even if it didn't give them the battle they wanted.

When they entered the camp, it was clear that it was far more than a dozen soldiers. Thirty at the very least, though the scene made it almost impossible to tell for sure.

Blood pooled together, forming minor rivers that trickled down the hillside. Gore splattered the walls of tents--or at least those that were still standing. In some cases, limbs had been completely separated from their bodies. Armor was crushed and weapons shattered as if they were made of nothing sturdier than glass. Faces stared up at the sky, mouths agape in horror. Well, that was of the faces that were still intact--far too many skulls were cracked by smashed helmets.

"The hell happened here?" Sylvain hissed, using his boot to shift one of the bodies just enough to see the other side. He grimaced, very quickly returning it back to its original position.

"Maybe . . . they had a fight with the Dukedom?" Ingrid muttered. She picked up one of the less-bloodied of the shattered lances, trying to bend it in her hands. She scowled when it didn't even shift.

"Doubt it." Felix muttered. He bent down next to one of the bodies, plucking off one of the insignia. Dukedom, not Adrestia. He spun it between his fingers. "Joint camp."

"Then . . ." Sylvain swallowed audibly, "what did _this_?"

_Or who_ , Felix mused.

  
  


_"Felix." Dimitri's voice cracked, several pitches higher than Felix had ever heard it. "Felix_ please _."_

_Felix continued down the hall, rounding another corner of the Fraldarius estate. It didn't matter how quickly he walked; Dimitri's legs were longer. His steps were too fast. It was practically impossible to escape. And it was even worse when the Prince kept coming here, even when he clearly had other things to pretend to worry about--like the Academy they were soon to attend._

_Dimitri's steps were so close. "Why won't you just talk to me? Felix--"_

_"Can't get a hint?" Felix hissed, not changing his pace in the slightest._

_"Felix--you're my best friend. Can't we just--"_

_"No."_

_A firm hand grabbed Felix's, spinning him around. "Please look at me."_

_Felix found himself caught by blue eyes, piercing and chilling and so so desperate. The start of dark circles made them stand out all the more. And, though Dimitri was naturally pale, he looked even paler. In a way, he looked like that scared and wounded boy that Felix had so desperately tried to help years ago. Who he tried to soothe and help through the nightmares and the wounds and so much pain--pushing back all of his own to try and help his best friend._

_But this_ wasn't _his friend._

_"Don't_ touch _me." Felix hissed, yanking his arm away._

_Dimitri looked at his hand as if Felix's arm was still there. "I don't understand."_

_"You don't?" Felix snarled. "Get a clue. I_ saw _what you did. And I want nothing to do with a monster."_

_Dimitri's eyelashes fluttered, lips pressing into a tight line. "Felix . . ." Slowly, like if he was afraid Felix might startle, he curled a finger into Felix's sleeve._

_"Still insisting?" Felix pointed an accusing finger, jabbing it at Dimitri's chest. "You're a boar. Unyielding, unfeeling,_ bloodthirsty. _And I don't associate with beasts."_

_Dimitri's mouth moved, but he couldn't get the words out. If Felix didn't know he was faking it, he'd have thought he'd actually hurt him. " . . . Please."_

_"I want nothing to do with you." He snapped his arm away again, the fabric tearing with the force. Once again, he spun on his heel, leaving the Boar behind._

_And this time it didn't follow._

  
  


  
  


Between that day and the Millennium Festival, Felix kept his outlook tempered. He assumed that the beast he had been pursuing was really a beast. Or that it was someone that Felix didn’t actually know. Or, if it was Dimitri, perhaps he was no longer in love with the country that had so easily abandoned him. Or perhaps Dimitri was dead.

He always figured that one was acceptable. When the reality came, when that day arrived and they all came back together and found not _only_ the Professor but the Boar, too, it was nearly unbearable. It was so infuriating that he had to bite his tongue to the point that he sometimes tasted copper.

Dimitri hadlet the boar take over, fester, grow. Perhaps it had been in full control for the full five years. With no one else there, no one by his side, of _course_ he would have let it take control. He was never really good at being alone.

No voice reached him. Not his, not the professor’s ( _goddess,_ and it took everything he had to not be pissed that he had been _alive_ and had just been _asleep_. But at the very least he could maybe, somehow, accept that easier than Dimitri’s state). No one’s.

Frankly, he wasn’t entirely convinced that this beast wouldn't strike him. That he wouldn’t tear Felix’s head off his shoulders. He was unhinged enough. Unaware enough.

And it was practically inevitable, if Felix didn’t give up. If he kept trying to find the soul in the monster dressed as a man.

It wasn’t like he was doing that part intentionally, though. It was just an unfortunate side effect. After all, he had to keep his eye on the beast. Make sure sure no one was foolish enough to approach the hulking creature haunting the cathedral. A lot of the incoming people were ignorant of the situation. And plenty of people were stupid enough to flirt with death.

No . . . that wasn’t right. If he were just looking after others, then he wouldn’t really need to watch the Boar. Just linger by the entrance, far enough away to keep himself sane (that _damn_ muttering, over and over, to everyone and no one in particular), and drive off others who were being foolish. He wouldn’t need to linger by the pillars nearest the pacing creature. Wouldn’t need to ask the Professor to help the man—practically beg, by Felix’s standards.

He wanted, more desperately than he would ever admit, to see just even the faintest trace of Dimitri buried somewhere in there. Just a fragment.

But all he saw was the beast. A worse beast. Not even a trace of that stupid mask. No sign that he had ever been there, except for Dimitri's nearly constant reminder to others that he was dead. A walking corpse. A rotting memory.

  
  


"What are you even hoping for?" Sylvain asked around a mouthful of food.

Felix made a face at his plate. Mercedes had obviously been cooking--everything had some manner of sweet in it. "Meat would be nice."

"That's not what I'm taking about." An accusatory fork was waved in his direction.

"I don't pretend to understand what goes on in that disaster you call a brain."

"Harsh." Sylvain brought his hand to his chest like he'd been struck, though he still had that stupid lopsided smile. "Don't pretend I didn't have to drag you out of that cathedral."

Felix grimaced. He took one bite, then another. But there wasn't any hiding it. Sylvain would see through it, anyway. "I don't know."

"Gotta be something." Sylvain mused.

Felix shrugged.

At this rate, it didn't even matter. It was clear that nothing would be able to change Dimitri's mind, to stop his mindless crusade. And all of them were so far out of options that all they could do was follow. Sure, the Professor was doing everything he could to keep him alive--just a day at a time--but it wasn't like he was doing anything to keep them safe for any time longer than that. For whatever reason, he went along with Dimitri's whims as much as the others did.

It was possible the Professor saw something they couldn't.

Felix had to hope that was the case. He sighed. "I just . . . don't want to die for nothing."

Sylvain hummed, resting his chin on his fist. He twirled his fork in his fingers. "Staring at him won't change anything."

"Having a rotation of girls warming your sheets won't change anything, either." Felix snapped.

"Uncalled for." Sylvain's laugh was bright. "You know what I mean."

With a huff, Felix ran his fingers through his bangs. "There's nothing else I can do."

  
  


It was a bad idea, going to the cathedral. Especially at night. Where the lights were dim, where it was hard to make out shapes. Where Dimitri's ghosts were always more aggressive, and that boar more violent.

But it was best to make sure the Boar actually _was_ there. That he was just pacing in front of the rubble. It would be a problem if he was among the pews, traumatizing any monk fool enough to go in there. Or if he was wandering the grounds, assaulting anyone he had confused for an enemy. Or if he had somehow crept out and escaped, and would be an _actually_ dead body in furs on their travels.

His eyes scanned over the pews. No lingering monks, which was good. And no dead bodies. Also very good. The side doors were solidly closed, too. Well, it was promising that the army wasn't as stupid as it used to be.

With a sigh, he looked up to the back of the cathedral. Immediately, his throat tightened, stomach churning. The hulking furs over hunched shoulders, the long cape dragging behind--it was missing. Dimitri was missing.

That was impossible. There was nowhere he could go that wouldn't cause alarm. Mad though he may be, he was the center of the army. Everyone knew who he was. And they all were on high alert for him, even if it was only to avoid him. Surely the officers of the army would have been notified then--Felix included.

"Damn--" He hissed. He spun on his heel--if no one else knew, then he'd have to tell them. At the very least the Professor. He'd know--

A claw reached out from behind a pillar, digging into his arm. It yanked him back, with so much force that Felix couldn't even attempt to regain his balance. He fell backward, slamming hard against metal. Breath shot out of his lungs, forcing an involuntary gasp for air.

On instinct, Felix scrambled, thrusting an arm backward to try and get away. But his attacker was faster, wrapping a long arm around his torso and in the same move trapping his arms at his sides. It was like being trapped in stone--his restraints immovable, impossible despite his fervent struggles.

" _Fu--"_ His hiss was cut off by a firm claw clamping over his mouth. It reeked of blood and dirt, so potent that it made him want to gag. The tips of metal pressed into his cheek, making him twitch. Just slightly, ever so slightly, he could feel it cut into his skin.

He thrashed, trying to force open a gap to get away. But with every move, the grip just tightened all the more. Soon, it was so firm that it was almost hard to breathe. Just enough to make the edges of his vision just the slightest bit hazy. He stopped moving, just to avoid being torn in two.

"Why is it you keep haunting me?" The voice was deep, raspy, _familiar_. Felix's gaze snapped to the side.

He knew that hair--he'd watched from afar enough to know it just by the hue. It was matted, long strands stuck together by dirt or blood or both. Beyond it, Felix could just make out the features of Dimitri's profile. His lips were moving without sound, so chapped it seemed they might just bleed without the faintest provocation. His cheekbones were more prominent up close, cheeks so hollow that it was obvious he hadn't properly eaten for a very long time. That dark bag under his eye was far more prominent than any he had ever seen, making his eye seem so cold and icy that it was very nearly white. And, though it stared at him, it was clear that Felix wasn't the person it was focused on.

Dimitri had claimed that he was no more than a walking corpse. This close, Felix could _believe_ it.

Since he couldn't speak, Felix hoped a glare served as enough of an answer.

"The others," Dimitri exhaled roughly, eye flicking around the room before it settled on Felix again, "they haunt me too. But not like you. All of those who have died before . . . my father, my stepmother, those in Duscur . . . even Glenn--"

Felix bit down hard on instinct, satisfied at the feeling of unarmored skin pinching between his teeth. And then he bit harder.

Dimitri yanked back his hand. It was quick, but before he could return it to its place, Felix slammed his head backward against Dimitri's chin. The contact made his head spin, but he didn't need his mind to react. There was enough space, enough of Dimitri's arm pulling away on sheer instinct, for Felix to practically throw himself out of Dimitri's gasp.

He stumbled forward, obviously pathetic as he scrambled to increase the distance between them. With heaving breaths, he spun around. He wouldn't be able to outrun Dimitri--he knew that--but with the space and his weapon at his side, he at least stood a chance.

_Damn_ , when was the last time his first instinct was to flee?

As sense returned, the first thing Felix realized was the sickening taste in his mouth. It tasted far far worse than it smelled. He spat, trying his best to refrain from throwing up. It mostly worked, though he had to restrain a couple dry heaves.

He wiped at his face, desperate to get the grime off. The bright shimmer of fresh blood mixed with the mess on the back of his glove. His cheek stung.

Well, he'd take that over a broken rib. Though, by the feel of it, a couple of them were definitely bruised. His heartbeat still thrummed in his chest, and his lungs ached. Probably not permanent.

His gaze flicked up to the Boar. He had almost expected the creature to try and close the gap, to regain his control over the situation. Or to pretend nothing happened, and return to his prowling. But, instead, he merely stood there, staring at the claws that had been clamped over Felix's mouth.

Rage bubbled in Felix in a way that overpowered his unease (because he was _not_ afraid). "I am not one of your ghosts."

"I know." Dimitri didn't look at him.

"And I am _not_ Glenn."

Slowly, Dimitri's gaze rose. It settled on Felix, though it was unfocused. His lips curled into a frown. "You could never be like him."

Felix bit down on his tongue, bile threatening to rise up again. Everything felt buzzing, like there was so much energy under his skin that he couldn't get rid of. He wiped his face again, just to _move_.

Dimitri was unbothered. "I could never see you as I see him."

Felix's body immediately went cold. There was something bitter about being compared to his brother, to always being seen as his shadow. It was something else entirely to be told that he couldn't compare. To know that he could never live up to his brother's image--not to the Kingdom, not to his father, and definitely not to Dimitri.

Dimitri had idolized him, loved him. Everything Glenn had done was marvelous and magnificent. Felix had never compared. He had never filled the void his brother had left. And he certainly couldn't compete with the ghost lingering in Dimitri's mind.

"You _don't_ see him." Felix snarled. "He's dead."

Dimitri's gaze snapped away. His eyelids shifted as if he were listening. His lips pressed together in consideration.

Felix wouldn't tolerate it. "Whatever you see is just what you want to see. Damn the rest of us."

Dimitri's gaze flicked back to Felix. Silently--far too silently for his size and stature and state of mind--he stepped toward Felix.

Felix, instinct naturally geared toward self-preservation and lungs burning harshly as if he needed the reminder, stepped back.

Dimitri's expression darkened, pulling his hand back to his side. "Nothing here is what I want to see."

Felix's laugh was harsh. "Of course not. The only thing you want is Edelgard's head rotting in front of you. Doesn't matter if we're alive or not when you get there."

He didn't wait for an answer. There was no point in listening. It was all false anyway. He spun on his heel, leaving the Cathedral as rapidly as his legs would take him.

  
  


"Hey, Felix," Ashe's voice was painfully chipper as he sat beside Felix at the dining table, "I don't mean to be rude, but did you get in an argument with a cat?"

Felix's hand immediately went to the cuts on his cheek. He hummed a response.

"You should put some ointment on it." Ashe said, leaning in to look closer. "It looks quite painful."

"It's fine." Felix muttered. "It's a . . . reminder."

"A reminder?"

"I should know better than to approach an animal that doesn't want help."

"Well, maybe it just didn't want yours. N-no offense. They just . . . you know . . . sometimes have preferences."

Felix sighed, pressing his thumb against the cut. "I'm sure it would prefer anyone else."

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> going to take a short break on this one to work on my other ideas. I really want to make sure I handle this one right and keep it satisfying.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during chapter 14 - 15.  
> It's been a while since I played Azure Moon so please pardon any liberties taken.

Logically, it was obvious that the Valley of Torment would be hot, since at the very least it was in the name. Likewise, Ailell was reputed as just sun and desert and not a lick of shade--so clearly it was going to be sweltering. Nothing could have appropriately prepared him for how unbearably stiflingly blistering the sun was as it bore down on them.

Even under the fabric of his shirt, sweat pooled between his collarbones and dripped down his back at an uncomfortable frequency. Underneath his coat, he was absolutely certain that he was soaking his shirt through at least two, if not all the layers on his person.

With his brain boiling ( _hopefully_ that was an exaggeration), it was like trying to find his thoughts through the murkiest (and most unpleasant) water imaginable. Every thought was sluggish, even the words around him taking miserably long to make sense of. Even the often reliable sharp retort was laggy and without enough speed to be considered venomous. If his mind was this affected, he could only dread how slow his body would respond.

This was . . .riskier than he'd have liked.

Yes, he could admit that their little force would be absolutely squashed without aid. They would be out of rations soon without help. And without enough soldiers for reinforcements, there was no way they would survive any fight--regardless of if they pursued Enbarr or Fhirdiad. Everything they had done up to this point, everything they had sacrificed, would be worthless if they didn't do _something_.

But sending the Fraldarius soldiers here was a poor choice. Aside from the fact that any sort of mobilizing would surely draw Cornelia's attention, there were a million other things wrong with this plan. One, the heat on Kingdom soldiers would cripple their strength, leaving them vulnerable to any sort of attack. Two, their absence would make Fraldarius seem weak--ill-defended. Three, if it was a significant enough group to suffice for soldiers and resources, then Fraldarius _was_ going to be considerably weakened, their people exposed to attack.

The message was clear enough: his father saw Dimitri's war as the only future for the Kingdom.

Which made sense, sort of. A long time ago, it had been the only point where he could actually agree with his father. Back then, it had been the only thing that could possibly unite the Kingdom. It was why Felix had pursued the Boar so fervently (even though that was a miserable failure).

But that was also before they were lead by a corpse.

Felix had been explicit in his letters. Clear on how far Dimitri had fallen. On how he dwelled on--even spoke to--the dead. How he saw everyone as an enemy, an obstacle, or a disposable means to an end (or all three). True, Felix said he would stick around because he had to (because what choice did they _have_?), but that they shouldn't yet put any stock in it until Dimitri was more . . . dependable.

Thinking on it, though, it was likely his father had merely regarded it as scornful whining.

  
  


In normal circumstances, he would have enjoyed the fact that he was _right_. Not only had Cornelia's pet Dukedom noticed Fraldarius' movement, they went to attack both the reinforcements and their receiving army. And her forces had the advantage against fighters used to cold and snow.

But gloating was a distraction. He could gloat later.

He needed to be conscious as he dodged around Dimitri. Staying out of the way of his wrath, trying to focus on anything but the way their opponents were practically torn in two. He kept his attention to the men that trailed the Boar in the wake of his destruction, that were hoping for an easy kill. They were distracted enough by their goal that they were hardly any threat as Felix struck them down.

His movements were slow, but they were workable. His blade was hot even through his gloves, but it just made him grip it all the harder. No matter how hard he panted, it felt like he couldn't catch his breath, but he _must_ be breathing so he certainly could keep fighting. He took far more hits than normal, but it wasn't hindering his movements yet (besides, Mercedes could heal him later). Besides, he had to endure them just to keep up with the Boar.

It was no surprise that Dimitri was practically unaffected by the heat. That he rampaged along, demolishing anything in his way. No surprise that, between he and the Professor, the Dukedom's little assault force was decimated.

  
  


Every step in Gareg Mach just brought with it an increasing amount of frustration. Fraldarius knights practically around every corner, acknowledging him with a salute and an attempt at conversation. Wanting to know what the general plans were, or where they could be more useful. Sure, he couldn't really complain--not logically, anyway--but that was a _Professor_ question. He barely had any more of an idea than they did.

But Dimitri's army _had_ requested the soldiers. And the supplies that came with them were good, too. Full stomachs had lessened some of the tensions, and had made people more confident in their path. Their outlook was, to a minor degree, less hopeless. So, while the soldiers' presence was bothersome, it was tolerable.

What was most annoying was his father, standing here among the men. If sending Fraldarius soldiers had been risky, coming along with them was absolutely foolish. It didn't matter if Felix's uncle was in Fraldarius. His uncle didn't have the respect of the Fraldarius soldiers. His uncle hadn't been seen as the leading force against Cornelia. His uncle wasn't one of the most prominent knights in the Kingdom.

So, with both Felix and his father here--on this likely suicidal mission--they were just dooming Fraldarius and what little pieces of the Kingdom that remained.

It was even worse to have heard his father use such irritatingly familiar words against Dimitri. To hear it time and time again.

How often had Felix insisted that his father no longer play to the whims of the dead? How often had he tried to encourage him to focus on his people and not the late King or Glenn?

It was _almost_ gratifying that it hadn't worked, that his father had been cowed back into place, had it not been for the fact that their lives were still on the line.

It also didn't help that he knew (thanks to Sylvain's help) that his father was actively seeking him. There was no reason for them to be together--his father had always taken a more keen interest in Dimitri and his growth, so logically he should be trailing Dimitri like a confused hound still seeking its master. Not looking for a pup it had largely given up on.

So Felix was actively avoiding him. Which meant little time at the training grounds. And more time seeking obscure locations to train. Even reading some tomes from the library was _technically_ training to improve himself, so he let that count where he couldn't swing his blade.

But even that could only last so long.

"Felix. A word?" His father's hand was firm around his wrist. Not strong enough to prevent escape but insistent, at the very least.

"What do you want?" He didn't move his arm, not yet. But he certainly didn't turn to face his old man.

"I was hoping we might talk over tea."

Felix snorted. "I don't have time for such frivolities. Save that for someone else."

"If you would rather talk while training I--"

"I would rather not talk at all."

Admittedly, a part of him recognized that his father would absolutely grind him into the dirt of the training floor, having the advantage in almost every way. Reach, speed, experience--it didn't matter how much Felix had trained, he still couldn't compete. He quickly suppressed that thought and willed it to fade into obscurity. It's not like he'd tolerate the man enough to be in the same 50 feet, let alone the confinements of the training grounds.

His father's expression fell, but only slightly. Goddess forbid he show any sincere expression. "Think of it as . . . business, then. The tea is just a formality."

Felix turned his head, sneer prominent on his lips. "What business could we possibly have?"

Rodrigue's eyebrow quirked. "The business between a father and his son?"

Felix pulled his arm away, partially on instinct. As expected, his father released his arm. "Not interested."

A sigh. "Fine. I wish to speak with you about Dimitri before we meet over battle arrangements tomorrow."

Felix clenched his jaw. What could _he_ possibly have to add that he hadn't openly provided already? No, this was just an excuse. "Ask the Professor, then. He keeps a better watch over the Boar than anyone else."

"He only watches." His father's tone was cautious, wary. Like it was a secret he didn't want to admit to himself. "I . . . want your opinion. I need to understand our current state, and you're the only one who has been unafraid to be critical."

Felix nearly choked in surprise. His father, the man who had cowed to almost every whim Dimitri ever had, actually wanting Felix's criticism? Or was he just trying to convince Felix that this was a cause worth dying for, as knights under the Kingdom?

"As I mentioned, the tea is just a formality." His father offered, motioning toward the kitchen areas, doubtless toward those gazebos that everyone just _had_ to have their tea at. "You're free to leave at any time."

With a heavy exhale, Felix nodded. "Fine."

His father's smile was more heartfelt than anything Felix had seen on his face in a long time. It was very nearly compelling by itself, though he'd certainly never admit such a thing. Besides, it was more likely that he was happy to have his way, than show any real amiability toward his son.

He kept his arms crossed as he sat across from his father, angling himself so he could depart at any moment. If this went as he anticipated, he imagined that would be rather quickly, anyway. Besides, it wasn't really like he wanted to face his father. It always felt like he was being pulled apart, graded against someone he'd never compare to.

A familiar smell struck his senses, making his gaze flick over to where the tea was being prepared. He looked down at the cup as it was gently placed in front of him. It was a considerable effort to take it and bring it to his lips.

The whole thing waxed nostalgic. The sweetness of the Sweet Apple Blend practically seeped into his senses, able to taste it before he even opened his mouth. This had been Glenn's favorite--an abomination that neither Felix nor his father could stand (perhaps the preference toward bitter and earthy teas was the only thing that they could truly agree on without hesitation). They might as well have been drinking sugar.

He watched his father take a sip, enjoying the grimace on his face. Rodrigue probably regretted selecting the first available one. There was no way this choice was anything _but_ random.

"I will get to the point." His father said, placing the teacup down. He cleared his throat. "Have you noticed any sign of . . . of improvement?"

"Depends." Felix muttered with a shrug. "I'd hardly call the Boar he once was an improvement."

"That 'Boar' loved his country still. As . . . unstable as he might have been, then, he still would have been a reliable leader."

Felix snorted in response. Compared to a corpse, anything would be an improvement. But still, Dimitri had been . . . frightening as the Boar. The fact that he could have snapped at any moment had left Felix with many a sleepless night. That it was just barely held back by the thin veneer of the princely mask was hardly any comfort. "Doubt it."

His father clearly prickled at that. "If you would think with your mind and not your anger for one moment!"

"What would you know?! You didn't see him as the Boar." Felix growled. "All you saw was an obligation to a dead friend!"

Rodrigue scowled, mouth opening for a quick retort. But, realizing himself, he regained his composure with a slow exhale. He ran the back of his knuckles against his mustache as he sighed. "I saw . . . an opportunity. At the last battle. But I need to be sure. Even if he isn't the Dimitri you'll accept, we need him to at least regain his senses. Or more innocent people _will_ die."

Felix twitched. Regardless of how he felt, that didn't excuse the fact that there were people starving, hurting. He sunk in his chair a bit. "Fine."

"Then I will ask again: have you seen any improvement?"

Felix snorted, taking another sip of the tea. It was better than the taste of his own bitterness. "No. He's obsessed with his vengeance on Edelgard. Nothing else matters. Not even the lives of his followers. We're just . . . something he needs to get what he wants."

"Are you certain?"

"You've heard him rant and rave to those 'ghosts' of his."

His father hummed, shifted the teacup in its saucer. He didn't dare another sip. "What were your orders in the Valley of Torment?"

Felix blinked. "What?"

"I am aware you have been following the Professor's guidance in the field. What was your role?"

"I was to . . . meet the Fraldarius soldiers. Remove any obstacles that had you cornered." Right, that was it. Keeping Dimitri safe had been an unintended consequence. After all, Dimitri had pretty much handled that whole mess for him. "Ideally get you and your men out of the front line."

"And what were Dimitri's orders?"

Felix chuckled, cold and harsh. "Like he was taking orders."

"Interesting." His father's finger followed the rim of the saucer. He rested his chin on the back of his hand. "I assume his usual fighting strategy was . . .?"

Felix leaned back in his chair, expression bland as if he were giving a mission report. "He tends to head into the center of the conflict, directly for the leader. Doesn't matter how many are in the way of that. He tears them apart all the same." He narrowed his eyes. "I don't see your point."

"I believe he may not be so far past redemption as you think."

Felix only replied with a snort.

"Listen, Felix," his father leaned forward, "your movements were reckless, risky. Your orders may have been to regroup with me, but they certainly weren't to get yourself killed in the process."

"You should talk." Felix's fist clenched in his sleeve. "You let yourself get surrounded."

His father chuckled. "That isn't the point." He smiled. "I believe you would not have survived, were it not for Dimitri."

Felix sneered. "I was lucky I avoided his blows. He had no impact on--"

"You are still recovering from one of their strikes, are you not? I imagine the poison only recently left your system." There was no accusation in his father's tone, but Felix felt his face heat with shame all the same. "You would not have managed against those numbers with that wound."

That even _he_ knew was infuriating. He had managed to ignore it throughout the battle, hide it from everyone but Mercedes. He looked away. "He was after Lord Gwendal. My presence--and his help--was merely coincidental."

His father pressed his lips together, gaze level. "If he were as animalistic and direct as you say, his path never would have crossed yours."

Felix opened his mouth to argue, but couldn't. It was true. Felix had taken a direct path on the west to regroup with his father and the Fraldarius men as quickly as possible. Gwendal was close to them, sure, but his position alongside the east meant there was a different and more direct path. The heat of the ground may have been a deterrent for most heading that way, but not for a feral beast in the Prince's skin. Which meant that Dimitri's path had been intentional. But what the hell did _that_ mean?

Felix sunk in his seat just a bit more. "What are you getting at?"

"I believe . . . you may be our best path to get him to see sense." Rodrigue tapped his chin. "If he defended even _you_ , then . . ."

Felix snorted a laugh. "I couldn't keep him from going over the edge before," not at the rebellion, not at Gareg Mach, and not when they had parted ways, "I'm not the one who can bring him back."

  
  


_The air around him reeked of death. Felix knew it was going to be like this--when he was old enough to actually be considered as a squire, Glenn had made it exceedingly clear that the battlefield was nothing like their stories. The brutality of his death had only reinforced that._

_The knight he squired for, thinking him ignorant, had tried his best to prepare him for this. He told Felix that the battlefield was different than training--to an extent he had to rely on his instincts. Likewise, he couldn't see his enemies as people, lest he allow them to haunt him for the remainder of his days. They had to be seen as nothing more than obstacles in the way. Those on the other side would likely regard him the same way._

_But the theories and the lessons were so much different than the reality. Nowhere near as horrifying. He could not mistake the feel of his blade through flesh as that of a sawdust-filled dummy. He could not pretend that the sensation of bone cracking was no more than wooden supports. And he couldn't just pretend that those he crossed blades with were nothing more than faceless nobodies._

_He couldn't unsee the glassy-eyed stare of those who_ he _had killed. Most were likely not much older than he was._

_But he had to live. He had promises to keep, a life to live. A legacy to live up to. He had to push back the growing nausea. He had to ignore the way his knees threatened to buckle under the stress._

_"Felix!" The voice practically rang out, unfamiliar in its desperation._

_Felix spun around, but too late. All he could see was a sword swinging toward his head. He wouldn't be able to dodge it, not without a fatal blow to the throat or shoulder._

_He was going to die._

_A sharp shove pushed him back, forcing him stumbling and falling hard on his ass. The assaulting blade shattered to pieces, falling around his feet. Light shimmered off familiar gauntlets, a tight fist where the blade had once been. And then the gauntlet reached out, grasping around his attacker's skull._

_The sickening_ crunch _reverberated through Felix's body._

_He could hear the heartbeat thrumming in his ears. Feel the ache of bruised ribs in his chest. Taste the acid on his tongue. And yet he couldn't even begin to fathom what he was seeing. It was there, right in front of him, but it seemed so unreal. Like he was in a dream--a living nightmare._

_There was Dimitri, but Felix could hardly recognize him. He annihilated anyone who came near them--half of the time with his lance, and the other half with his hand. His armor nearly glistened crimson with how much blood was splattered on it, the sheer amount weighing down his cape. Blond hair matted together in clumps, held together by blood already drying._

_His eyes, so often bright and welcoming, were nearly ice. They snapped to anyone coming near, a visage of pure ferocity. And . . . and his expression . . ._

_. . . that_ smile _. . ._

_Felix had never seen anything like it. Even in his worst imaginings--of villains and murderers, of anything malicious in any of his tales--he could never fathom something this evil. It seemed to absolutely delight in death. It was as if it would cherish nothing else but bathing in blood._

_It wasn't Dimitri. It couldn't be Dimitri._

_When there was no one left, the thing, the not-Dimitri looked at him._

_"Felix?" The voice_ sounded _like Dimitri. The smile looked like Dimitri's. But it was still covered in the same blood. "Are you okay?"_

_He flinched as it reached out to touch him._

_When it pulled back, he ran._

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

In any standard situation, the discourse during a war council would be productive. They'd determine a target, a strategy, and assign their soldiers accordingly. It would be easy to address any disadvantages beforehand, and determine the most appropriate method to proceed. At the very least, they would undoubtedly know their chances.

Targeting the Bridge of Myrddin was risky. It was an easily defensible target, meaning that the Empire would have the advantage. With enough well-placed artillery, they probably could end the Kingdom army before it even managed a Meteor. But it wasn't that it would be _impossible_. For instance, the Leicester Alliance were looking the other way--allowing them to pass without conflict--which would leave them enough forces to face the Empire. Plus, with the reinforcements and rations, the soldiers had strong morale and were ready for a fight.

The problem was that victory would require them all to act as unified as possible.

Which was absolutely _hopeless_ with Dimitri. He didn't care about the how _._ He just wanted to know how many people were in his way--just so he could rip themto sheds. No matter how much the others begged him to reconsider--whether it was Annette, Gilbert, his father, or even the Professor--he would not listen.

His demands were, in his mind, simple. His ghosts would be appeased, regardless of the hundreds more dying at home. _Only_ Edgelgard's death would truly satisfy, though her forces would do for now. There was nothing else to consider. Nothing else to discuss.And he would not so much as humor anyone who suggested otherwise.

Felix's gaze followed as the Boar stormed out, practically snarling the whole way. Likely to go prowl the Cathedral again. Maybe gnash his teeth at anyone who had the audacity to pray in the middle of the day.

With a sigh, he crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat. He almost missed the old Dimitri, even if it was entirely fake. At least he could have _pretended_ to be reasoned with.

Felix let his gaze slide over to his father, eyebrow raised. Rodrigue sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He particularly avoided his son's pointed look. _Finally_ , he seemed about as lost and hopeless as everyone else. It was about time that he gave up on this foolish idea of Dimitri's redemption.

"He doesn't need to be present for us to plan." The Professor said, shaking his head. "We know what he'll do, so we can work around that. Duke Fraldarius, you have the scouts' report?"

"I do." Duty snapped Rodrigue from his thoughts in a way nothing else could.He looked down at the paper in front of him, reciting the contents.

Felix's fingers tapped against his arm as he listened and considered. It had been inevitable that there would be at least two powerful generals on the field, and a decent number of forces behind them. But that scout's report was likely old, outdated. Edelgard surely would have noticed their goal, and reinforced her army with more . . . sturdy fighters. A plethora of armored knights would certainly prove troublesome for Kingdom forces to handle (they never had been particularly proficient with Reason). The chance of Gloucester's interference would also be a problem. There was no way he would be passive just because Claude told him to.

But Felix was never much of a tactician. He could see the problems, clear as day, but he never really was any good at solving them. That was, he supposed, the benefit of letting the Professor guide them.

"It's clear, then." Byleth said. "Annette, Sylvain, and Ashe will go along the North. Cut off any reinforcements. We can anticipate Dimitri to . . . charge right through." He very nearly grimaced as he shifted a few figures on their makeshift map. "Felix and I will support him. Mercedes will provide support to both groups."

Felix twitched. "Why am _I_ supporting the Boar?"

The Professor looked at him with a bland expression. Then again, most of his expressions were bland. "It is likely Gloucester will reinforce from the north. Therefore, we need Reason-competent people to stop him."

Sylvain chuckled. "Yeah, how _is_ that going, anyway?"

Felix glared daggers at the redhead, only because throwing them would be frowned upon. The Mortal Savant path had been given up ages ago (because, after 3 failed attempts, it was pretty obvious that was a waste of time and Master Seals); Felix could only dread that the Professor might make him pursue _dancing_ again.

"Besides," Byleth shifted a couple figures on the map, adjusting the estimated position of Edelgard's forces, "you and I both have the highest reaction speed. We will be able to keep up with Dimitri and . . . and avoid potential problems."

"Just say that we'll be able to avoid his strikes when he decides we're enemies." Felix grumbled.

His father's frown was probably the most distinct expression he had all day. Very near a scowl. "Felix."

"It's no secret." Felix shrugged.

He tried not to shrink under everyone's gaze. Half clearly agreed--or at least were near to--the other half looked at him like _he_ was the problem. Which was clearly a part of their poor judgment.

Byleth, however, was unfazed. He shook his head. "Dodge, _and_ . . .?"

He huffed. "And I'll keep the Boar alive."

  
  


The situation was far worse than his pessimism could ever predict.

Sure, the unpredictability of Dimitri's movements made it clear this was _always_ going to be a struggle, but it was doubly so with how blatantly inaccurate the scout's report had been. There was no mention of the stronghold in the center of the bridge--of course full of Fortress Knights--nor had it mentioned the presence of demonic beasts. They were not only outnumbered, but had lost any advantage that their planning might have provided.

He half-spun around the demonic beast's attack, using the air pushed from its massive claw to guide his movement. It very nearly pushed him into the range of a Fortress Knight, but they were so naturally slow that they were hardly a threat. And, unfortunately for them, not everything was guarded well. He winced at the sound of his blade scraping against metal as it slid into flesh--a near miss that he could not afford to keep repeating.

Felix glanced back to the beast, which had become preoccupied with fighting the Professor. With one of Byleth's strikes, it stumbled back, head lolling. A stun.Good. It would give them a chance to catch their breath.

Panting, he downed a concoction, letting his gaze fall over the field as he let the sensation of healing reverberate through his body. It seemed like their information had at least been right for the most northern conditions. Two generals on the field--one the Von Aegir, and the other Gloucester. The Kingdom unit there was, at the very least, managing without casualties.

Without intending to, his eyes searched for Dimitri. It wasn't like the Boar _needed_ to be watched. Technically, so long as Felix could hear his roaring and streams of inane curses to please the dead, it meant he was still breathing. And so long as the Empire's soldiers were still shouting and screaming, it meant that Dimitri was still able to hold a spear--and use it.

But still his gaze went there anyway. Looking for any damage--any blood seeping through armor, or hindered movements, or anything of that nature. Dimitri looked like he had gotten through unmarred thus far, even though he had likely fought at least double what Byleth and Felix were struggling through. One by one, tearing through anyone who was in his way of that female general.

Hairs stood on end as the air prickled around him. On pure instinct, he jumped out of the way. The space where he stood immediately went ablaze, singeing his clothing. Any hesitation, and it surely would have been something far less . . . reparable. With a scowl, he struck out at the beast's arm as it swiped at him once more, enjoying the definite proof of damage with the sound of crunching bone.

It had to just be his orders sinking in. He was, though he might deny it, a Kingdom soldier to the core. It was in their blood to follow orders. And in their very essence to watch for their king.

There was nothing personal to it.

Byleth's blade swung out, the whip sliding through the beast's mask and skull like it was nothing. He had not even the vaguest look of satisfaction as it dissolved into darkness.

"Hmph." Felix glanced down at his blade, already taking too much damage. He was lucky he had a spare--it didn't seem like this one had more than a few blows left in this one. Though certainly it would have far _more_ if the Professor had just used that Crest weapon from the start.

"Felix," the Professor ran a hand through his hair, the crimson clashing horribly with his locks, "go back up Dimitri."

Felix snorted, slicing at another knight. It wasn't enough to kill, but it did knock the man back a few steps. His blade fractured, and he discarded it with a scowl. "Like hell I will."

He ducked another ax swing, drawing his blade and sliding the motion into a single, clear strike. It found purchase in a small gap in the armor, the cut deep and clean. The knight would bleed out within a couple minutes.

He was pulled back by a tug on his arm. He shifted to strike, only instead finding the Professor grabbing his chin and forcing him to look in Dimitri's direction. It was only more irritating as--at the same time--Byleth set a cavalry unit on fire.

Dimitri was charging at a large demonic beast, roaring almost as loud as it did when it noticed him.

"What of it?" Felix grumbled, swatting away the Professor's hand. "He can handle it."

"True," Byleth spun around, this time using Thoron on a set of very unfortunate foot soldiers. "But that general is close. What if she decides to strike while he's distracted?"

A very specific instance, maybe one of a hundred. "It's equally likely that the Boar'll ride that thing like a mount. Strike them both down at once."

The Professor raised an eyebrow, scowl firm.

Felix glanced away. He had to admit that an experienced general would easily read Dimitri's style (or lack thereof). The Boar was too single-minded to pay attention to anything else on the field. With enough foresight and coordination, they could distract him and close the gap quickly. They'd rid of him before he even knew he was cornered.

Besides, it was only common knowledge that both forces would fall if their leaders did.

He huffed a frustrated sigh. "Fine. Just don't get yourself killed on your own."

Muttering to himself, he ran toward the Boar. He didn't bother with those who tried to block his path--the Professor handled them easily, blasting them with a Bolganone. Not enough to kill, but plenty to allow him the gap. And he was very good at taking advantage of minor opportunities.

It took barely any time at all to charge at the creature, narrowing the gap before it even could notice his approach.

With a shout, he used his momentum to swing at the demonic beast with all the force he could muster, targeting the joint in its arm. The power of his Crest thrummed in his body. The creature let out a cry, but it was obvious he hadn't crippled it. It was never that easy.

He glanced over, catching that icy glaze pierce past mats of blond hair. Looking at him, but unlikely to actually _see_. And so Felix returned it with a glare of his own, though brief. He didn't have the patience to entertain the Boar.

Snapping his attention back to his target, he slid into the flow of battle. It was better than overthinking everything--or anything. It was easy, normal. A strategy he had always preferred--one he had grown even more accustomed to in the five years of fighting. Dodge, attack, block. Adjust his movements based on his enemy.Acknowledge an ally, but do not rely on them. The only strength he could count on was his own.

Demonic beasts weren't all the same, but they acted similarly. More aggressive when wounded, more powerful when desperate. It made their movements predictable, but required some caution due to their immense size. A careless mistake would be far more fatal against these things than against the common soldier. But, so long as he watched the face and claws, and targeted the joints, he would be fine.

And then, to his surprise,strikes began to move in alignment with his own. When he was targeted and had no choice but to dodge, Dimitri's lance drove deep into the beast's vulnerabilities. When Dimitri had to take the defensive against flaming breath, Felix found it easy to take advantage of the creature's distraction and chip at its endurance with his blade.Even once, the Boar managed to grab the claw as it struck out at him, holding the creature in place as Felix severed its hand at the wrist.

It was odd. Even though they were forced to fight in close quarters, not once did Felix feel like his life was in any real danger. Not by the demonic beast and--more importantly--not by the Boar. The lance was never pointed in his direction. And the strikes, while close, weren't _dangerously_ close.

Not once did he feel like he had become the enemy.

It was almost like they were teens again. Like they were in the training grounds of Fraldarius--long before Glenn's death, long before the Academy--just the two of them against a half dozen Fraldarius knights. Perfectly in flow, a constant balance of give and take. Always knowing that he could rely on Dimitri to know the purpose his attacks and, ultimately, watch his back. Just as he watched over Dimitri. Back when he had been proud to consider himself Dimitri's potential Shield.

It would be nostalgic, really, if Felix could ignore the last decade. A part of him wanted to, as he saw the demonic beast dissolve into nothing. He knew it would be easier, if he could. If he could just fight alongside Dimitri again, push aside all of his hatred, resentment . . . and fear.

And then there was another snarling roar. It startled Felix back to attention, eyes following the Boar raging toward a group of knights. Thrusting himself into combat, lance very nearly slicing through two men at once. Blood splattered, and more bodies littered the floor before any of them had the sensibility to even defend.

Felix grimaced. Anyone who could look at that without fear wasn't human.

There was no sense in joining that. Against a large beast, there was enough space to keep himself from getting struck. There also had been no chance that Felix would be confused with a demonic beast. But against a group of soldiers? There was definitely a high chance, if he got involved, that Felix would wind up among the dead. The Boar would undeniably want to kill everyone around him, rather than risk one potential adversary.

He dug his blade deep into a sniper's shoulder, twisting so there was no chance of recovery. The man stumbled back, falling into the river. Joining the other bodies flowing downstream. A crimson trail, one among a hundred.

There was a spark of light in his periphery. A spell--the Professor's maybe--no, the wrong direction. And too close for Annette. He snapped his head in that direction, watching runes flicker in the air in front of a mage. Felix was no strong caster (ok, hardly a caster at all), but he knew a Thoron when he saw it.

" _Damn_." He hissed, feet pounding hard against the stone beneath him, arms pumping as he ran. The Boar could withstand hundreds of physical attacks without issue--hardly without blinking. Magic, though . . . he had never been particularly good against it as a teen, and as an adult there hadn't been much improvement. And a high-tier cast like that . . .

They couldn't afford their Prince falling, it was as simple as that.

Ramming into Dimitri was like running into a wall. He knew it would be, but bracing his shoulder wouldn't prevent the inevitable bruise (he was lucky his shoulder didn't crack).He hadn't pushed the Boar more than a few inches, barely managing to shift him more than a step.

But it was just enough.

Lightning ripped into his side, burning like flames in his veins. Fingers went numb only temporarily, replaced rapidly by agonizing pain. His legs gave out without his permission, forcing him to his knees. When he hit the ground, his whole body throbbed in one unified jolt. He tried to catch his breath to bite back the sensation, but it was of no use; it was almost like each one was a spark threatening to ignite his lungs.

He dug his blade into the dirt, fingers gripping experimentally. The bulk of the damage wasn't on his sword arm, so that was promising. With a grimace, he forced himself to stand. It was bad for the blade, to put so much weight against it--but it wasn't like this one would last beyond the battle, anyway.

His legs were cooperating, but he had no certainty how long that would last. As he looked up, his vision blurred momentarily. With enough determination (read: stubbornness), he forced the world back into focus. Just in enough time to see the Boar tear the mage's head from his shoulders and toss it into the river. Normally the sight would churn his stomach, but it was a bit hard to focus on much of anything past but pain.

Well, at least the Thoron probably burned him enough to prevent major blood loss. So he wouldn't bleed to death trying to cross the field. He was pretty sure that was how it worked, anyway.

He downed his last vulnerary in a single gulp, the sensation not even remotely satisfying. It didn't dull the pain--the potion itself made his throat burn--but it did make his limbs a little more cooperative. He straightened himself a bit, glancing across the field as he let the sensation settle in. He'd could manage this. He'd probably dealt with worse at one point or another. Though he couldn't quite remember when.

His gaze fell on a nearby mage, who was readying his spell. The symbols were small, weaker. Designed for a quick cast, a lesser magic. Probably terrified that he wouldn't be able to manage anything longer against such a monster. Likely praying to whatever he believed in that just a little damage would be enough to save him.

Felix exhaled--he wouldn't let the mage manage even that. He ignored the screaming of his limbs as he charged. A swing of his blade, and the man fell. It was hard to figure out just _how_ he managed, hard to think past the growing agony. Agony accompanied by the fact that his good shoulder was a little more than singed now, too. Well, that probably wouldn't have killed Dimitri . . . probably.

Still, he had a job to do. He looked up, seeing the general not far away. She was watching the battlefield, distaste clear in her expression. She likely knew that she was losing, that her forces were being decimated. Still, Felix had to respect that she had enough courage to stand her ground. To not leave her men to die as she escaped.

He took a step. Such knowledge of her imminent demise would make her desperate. Another step. She had likely come to this battle expecting to die, anyway. And then another step. Which meant that she would fight with nothing to lose. And another. So he would probably die if he tried to fight her.

But he had to try. To do nothing would risk the lives of others.

Fingers dug into the back of his cloak, yanking him back from any progress he had made. He didn't so much stumble as get grabbed like a pup by its scruff. He found it equally difficult to get out of the hold.

He spun around (as best as the grip would allow), only to come face-to-face with Dimitri. Well, face to chestplate. He sneered at the dark metal.

"What are you _doing_?" He hissed, trying again to pull away and failing miserably. The threads of his coat strained, but didn't tear.

"I could ask you the same." Dimitri's voice was a growl, tone more irritation than any actual concern. That eye seemed to pierce through him as his gaze fell over Felix's body. "You are more a corpse than I am."

Felix tried to pull away again, but all he found was his energy quickly draining. Without the adrenaline of the fight, it was like there was nothing left to hold him together. "Oh? Decided to care about something other than your ghosts?"

Dimitri's head tilted, eye sliding off to his side. Listening again to those stupid imaginings, of course. Displeased with whatever he told himself as an excuse. Only a moment later, and he was considering Felix once more. "You'll just be another body in the way."

Felix twitched. "Not a chance." He growled, venom heavy on his tongue. "I won't die for you."

Dimitri's expression slid into a smile that was almost cruel. Cold. So much like that which had terrified Felix in the past. He looked toward the general. "Then stay out of my way."

With that, he tossed Felix backward like he was little more than a toy made of straw. Felix fell on his back, the stone floor hard and unforgiving and so agonizing that Felix couldn't even bring himself to stand. He gasped there, staring up at the sky as darkness crept in at the edges of his vision. And then it took over completely.

  
  


_Felix sighed. He'd been staring at the ceiling for too long now. He'd tried sleeping, he really had, but it had been absolutely pointless. It was like he had become too exhausted to actually fall asleep. Of course he was. He'd cried for longer than he could remember--longer than he ever had--chest throbbing with his heart having been torn to shreds._

_But now it was different. He was still hurting of course. But it had dulled into an ache, like a scar that could be tolerated, but never gone completely. Just picking at him until he was wrung out like a rag, till there wasn't any emotion left in him._

_That would be better, wouldn't it? To feel nothing at all?_

_"Felix, do you hate me?" Dimitri's voice was soft, muffled against his pillow._

_Felix glanced over. They hadn't been in the same bed since they were little. But, between Felix's lack of sleep, and Dimitri's screaming in the night . . . his father had really no other alternative than to hope that nostalgia would help them both rest. That, with someone they cared about there, they would just stumble into sleep. It was a cute idea, but ultimately pointless._

_It had already been months since Felix had laid his eyes on charred armor. Weeks since he had stood before Dimitri's bed, his dearest friend crippled and teetering on the precipice of death. Days since Dimitri was finally deemed well enough to try this 'shared bed' hypothesis. And still no chance of hope._

_His gaze slowly shifted, seeing the way Dimitri was practically smothering himself with his pillow as he lay on his stomach. His arms crossed under his head, as if he could pull it even closer. Purposely trying to cut off his own air. Or maybe just hide, where he couldn't be struck with the full force of Felix's hatred._

_Felix rolled to his side, resting his arm under his head. Looking close, he could see just one blue eye, just on the edge of tears. "Why would I?"_

_Dimitri let out a bare huff of a laugh that was completely without mirth. "Why_ wouldn't _you?"_

_Well, that wasn't entirely unreasonable. He could very much imagine hating Dimitri. He still couldn't fathom why everyone but him had died. How a boy, who had never seen true combat, could possibly survive when even the best knights in the Kingdom couldn't. It would be so so easy to loathe him._

_But it was even more logical that he would hate his brother. The man who had accomplished anything he had set his mind to--the lance, the axe, the sword. Who had been the best the Kingdom had ever seen. Who grinned as he absolutely destroyed Felix on the training ground, challenging Felix to catch up. Who loudly proclaimed that he'd wait for the day that he'd see Felix win, the day that they'd stand side-by-side as knights. The man who couldn't even come back, nothing more than charred armor left._

_No, the only ones he could really loathe were the ones who killed his brother. The ones who harmed Dimitri. Who were likely just as dead now, too._

_"Well, I don't." He muttered with a shrug._

_Dimitri turned on his side, glancing away. "I killed Gl--"_

_Felix shot up, pushing Dimitri onto his back and clamping a hand over his mouth. "You didn't."_

_Though Dimitri could so easily shove Felix away, he didn't. He simply looked at Felix's hand, blond lashes very nearly brushing Felix's palm. And then he looked up. From this angle, the dark circles under his eyes were far more prominent. He looked just as empty as Felix felt, if not more._

_Slowly, Felix moved his hand. "My brother died protecting you. That's not . . . the same."_

_"Rodrigue said--"_

_Felix snorted, unable to resist the sneer on his lips as he fell back onto his pillow. "Forget what my father said."_

_Yes, if there was anyone he could hate, it was his father. Who looked at the charred remains of his eldest son, at the horribly injured prince, and could only say 'Glenn died like a true knight.' True, it wasn't wrong of him to dote on Dimitri--to do anything and everything to try and make him heal--but it was as if he had never lost a son. Like that placating statement had entirely erased Glenn._

_And it was like he expected that stupid statement to make Felix heal, too. He acted like Felix was just being childish, dramatic, for mourning the most central figure in his life. Like he didn't have to walk by Glenn's room every time he was in the Fraldarius manor. Like he didn't have to listen to people mutter about how little Felix could possibly compare as a knight. Like he didn't already hear the staff talk about how_ poor _of a replacement Felix would be as the Duke._

_"My brother . . ." Felix's hand trembled, and he clenched his fist in Dimitri's sleeve to try and will it away, "he wanted to protect people he loved."_

_When he thought about it, Felix couldn't really blame Glenn. He'd probably do the same thing himself, if it meant Dimitri could live another day. He wouldn't be able to live with himself otherwise. Couldn't stand surviving when he'd failed to protect someone he cared about._

_But that wasn't Glenn holding up some stupid ideal of chivalry. Not acting like a knight. Just protecting his dear friend. That was just . . . Glenn._

_Dimitri moved his hand, placing it on top of Felix's. "Don't die for me."_

_Felix's lip twitched. He couldn't promise that. Not if such a thing happened again. But Dimitri's expression was pleading, desperate. A kid who just couldn't stand the thought of losing again._

_So Felix lied. "I promise."_

_"I don't know what I'd do without you."_

_Felix hummed with a small smile. "Actually sleep, probably. Instead of asking stupid questions."_

  
  


Felix opened his eyes, staring up at the stone ceiling of the infirmary. He had already spent a week picking out shapes from the inconsistency in the texture. Then another week wishing it would just crumble down on him so he wouldn't have to _deal_ with being stuck in bed. When that didn't work, he tried some of the books Ashe had left him in the third week, but that was mostly chivalric drivel. Though that was preferable to dealing with the pitying looks that the others had given him when they came to visit.

It wasn't like he didn't know the extent of his injuries--after all, _he_ was the one who had to deal with their aftermath. He'd been lucky that the Thoron had only torn through the muscle on his side, and hadn't severely damaged any critical organs. It had burned a rather impressive stretch of torso, and would most certainly leave a scar to remind him of his stupidity. The other burns--on his arms, legs, and shoulder--were significant, but not irreparable. Most wouldn't show any sign at all. More annoying was that he had strained a half dozen muscles in his desperation to push past his injuries. Those were, primarily, what kept him in bed. If he strained them again, it was likely he wouldn't be able to return to the battlefield. Ever.

Of course, that didn't really help him _now_.

With a grunt, he sat up from his bed. A tonic was just at his bedside: a mild pain reliever to help him through the rest of his recovery. He'd ignored it for the last few days--really, ever since Manuela left to join the others going to Gronder Field.

_That_ was the really painful part: being left behind. Nothing else could compare.

He scoffed, discarding the annoyingly thin infirmary gown and pulling on his shirt. When that wasn't a complete disaster, he worked toward putting on the rest of his gear. There was some stretch and strain, and maybe a little ache, but nothing that merited numbing himself with medicine.

Which meant he was well enough to abandon this stupid bed and this stupid room and go back to his own. Where it didn't constantly smell like medicine and where he could _actually_ sleep without being bothered every five minutes. And where he could get up and stretch and train without constantly being scolded by Manuela and Mercedes. At the very least until they came back and decided to annoy him again (which would be . . . any day now, really).

With a slow exhale, he stepped into the training grounds, glad to have his blades at his side again. Empty, obviously. Anyone worth a fight was out on Gronder field, killing or getting themselves killed. The only people left here were those injured, like Felix, or knights that the Kingdom could claim no control over. Neither of those groups common inhabitants for the training grounds.

His first swing was slow, careful. He took the time to feel where his tendons stretched, where his skin strained against the movement. Gauging whether it was something that could be trained away, or something that might require some more . . . care. Well, at the very least, he would be more aware of where his weaknesses were, at least until he fully recovered.

Of course, he wasn't entirely sure he could train every problem away. One, for instance, was his stupid instinct. After all, sense would have reminded him that Dimitri had armor--he probably could have withstood a _couple_ magic hits. At the very least, better than Felix did. Plus, it was foolish to even think he could _push_ that stupid hulking beast of a man.

There would have to be a way to get rid of that before it got him killed. Felix had once thought fearing him might be enough. Or hating him. Or some convoluted combination of the two. But it hadn't.

Maybe he had never really completely smothered the younger him who refused such thoughts.

With a huff, he started his standard routine. He'd have to do better. He'd pretty much smothered everything else. What was one more thing?

"Hey, Felix?" Sylvain's voice startled him just enough to make him miss the training dummy.

Felix turned on his heel, looking at the paladin with an eyebrow raised. He couldn't resist looking him over; minor cuts here and there, but nothing major. Which meant he hadn't gone and gotten himself killed. "I'm busy."

"I . . . really need to talk to you."

Felix returned to his routine. Ah, the strike was just slightly off. He'd have to adjust. "If you're here to lecture me, go away."

Sylvain stopped Felix's next swing with a firm grip on his arm. "We _need_ to talk."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place between chapter 16-17

"Sylvain!" Felix growled, tone low and threatening as he found himself practically stumbling behind the taller, dragged along by the hand clamped on his wrist. But Sylvain was very nearly running at this pace, so Felix--cursed with legs that never quite grew enough to compete--could barely keep up. And the lingering injury was very much _not_ helping. He was pretty sure that, if he stumbled, he'd wind up dragged behind.

Sylvain didn't even look back.

" _Sylvain_!" Felix pulled his arm back with all the strength he had, satisfied to see the redhead stumble back. It only would have been marginally better if he had fallen entirely on his ass. "What is the meaning of this?"

Sylvain twitched, not entirely unlike when he'd gotten caught doing something rather unscrupulous in inappropriate places. His gaze flicked down the halls, lips pressed tight. "Not here." He muttered. "I can't tell you here."

If Felix's irritation weren't entirely consuming, a worrying curiosity might have settled in. For now, it was little more than a flicker in the back of his mind. "Fine. Whatever. Then where."

Sylvain pulled at Felix's arm, scowling when Felix kept himself firm in place. "I was taking you there."

"Then just tell me. I'm not some child that needs to be dragged around."

Sylvain's gaze snapped to something further down the hall. "Fine, sure. Your room." He ran a hand through his hair. "But, please, before someone sees."

That made Felix's eyebrow quirk. But, if this was the only keeping Sylvain from being just a beat from carrying him, then it was a price he'd have to pay. "Fine. _Fine_."

  
  


"Felix?" Sylvain frowned. "You alright?"

The thing was, Sylvain's voice seemed so far away, so quiet. Barely, just barely, Felix had enough sense to wonder if that was because Sylvain was genuinely concerned Felix might shatter or--more worrisome--if it was because Felix felt like the world was spinning without him, and like he was watching his own body from the outside. Like this wasn't real--like it was a dream, a nightmare. Some stupid figment his mind made up just to taunt him.

And then he was immediately grounded by the sensation of a palm pressed firmly against his shoulder, a thumb digging into the muscle there. "Hey--"

Felix jerked away, probably more violently than necessary. "Don't touch me." He snarled, struggling to ignore the way his head spun.

"Felix, I just want to--" Sylvain reached out for him again, and Felix, in return, only widened the gap between them. "Will you just--"

Felix could feel himself sway far more than the movement merited. He could feel the way his whole body chilled more and more at each passing moment--even though that was very much impossible. As it built, it felt like a beast was stepping on his chest, pressing harder as the seconds passed. It was a struggle to not hyperventilate.

And Sylvain was _not_ helping.

Back pressed against the wall, he glanced up at Sylvain's hand nearing him once more. Felix's lip curled. "Touch me and I'll cut it off."

Sylvain jerked his hand back, eyes wide. Expressions flashed across his face faster than Felix could keep track of. Not that it really mattered; in the end, it just landed on that absolutely infuriating fake smile.

"Okay." Sylvain's tone was hardly any different than if he was addressing a child. Or, perhaps, one of those girls he'd scorned one too many times.

Felix _hated_ it.

"Okay." Sylvain repeated. "What do you need?"

Felix needed to be left alone. He needed to not feel like he was about to fall apart at any moment. He needed his eyes to stop watering, and his hand to stop shaking. He needed a training dummy or eight to just wear himself out fighting, until his legs wouldn't support him and he could just collapse into bed without even thinking. He needed to be back in control--he needed to feel like himself.

He needed his father to not be dead.

But, seeing as that wasn't possible: "I need you to get out of my room."

"That's not--"

" _Now_."

He kept his glare firm as Sylvain stared at him, eyebrow quirked like he was trying to solve a puzzle. Not that there was anything particularly puzzling about Sylvain being intrusive. Nor about Felix being absolutely fed up with it.

That damn smile was still there, but there was a minor victory in the way Sylvain's shoulders slumped. "Alright." Sylvain sighed, nodding slightly as he stepped back to the door. "But, well, if you need anything, you know where I am."

"Don't count on it." Felix snorted.

"Yeah, figured as much." Sylvain's expression softened, if only slightly. "But I'll be here for you. You know that."

"Out."

Felix watched as Sylvain left, mentally preparing himself for shoving the man out if he had to. It might be hard, considering Sylvain was annoyingly bulky, and Felix's body was currently unreliable at best, but he was certain he could manage it. That didn't mean that he hadn't let out a small sigh of relief when the door clicked shut--no forceful intervention required. Of course, just to prevent any second thoughts, Felix clicked the lock shut, wishing he had another for good measure.

The last thing he needed was Sylvain returning, thrusting whatever concept of help he had onto Felix. Or maybe dragging Ingrid along to force Felix to talk to them. Or maybe the Professor stepping in, trying to console him with that blatantly expressionless face. Or, worst of all, 'well-meaning' people coming in, wanting to share empty platitudes to make themselves feel better.

As much as his resentment fueled him, it couldn't keep everything from crashing back once silence settled in. Sylvain's voice curled around him like a snake, the thoughts threatening to crush his lungs.

 _'She came out of nowhere.'_ Sylvain had said, words hesitant and without any of his characteristically annoying levity. _'She was after His Highness. And . . . your father took the hit. We . . . we couldn't help him_. _And we didn't have the resources to bring him home. I'm sorry.'_

Felix stared at his fingers still on the lock. The trembling was more prominent, hopeless to quell.

It was impossible to fathom, impossible to believe. His father had always prided himself on being the Shield, always so proud of the legacy that the title bore with it. On the strength and duty of their blood. But the thing was: shields protected--they weren't supposed to break.

Even if Dimitri always broke everything he touched.

No--that wasn't right. Regardless of whatever Dimitri did, it shouldn't have surprised him that Rodrigue died for him. Even if the old man hadn't shown a clear preference for his Prince, there always had been the intrinsic issue of his ideals. He thought that the knights were expendable in comparison to their lord. That there was no death more honorable than dying 'like a true knight'. He'd probably died with a smile on his face and pride ( _and_ probably a knife) in his chest.

Felix twitched, pressing his palms against his eyes to try and will that image away. He staggered away from the door, like breaking contact with the wood would break him away from that thought.

He rubbed his hands down his face, palms pressed against his jaw. In the end, regardless of the old man's ideals, there was no honor to be had in death. He was likely buried in some barely-marked grave off Gronder field. Not at Gareg Mach, not in Fraldarius. Left behind by soldiers too tired to give him even a respectful farewell.

And he had died for a man who was still a beast. For someone who couldn't even look at the people that his father had been so desperate to protect. Who didn't even care about that stupid ideal.

Then again, it wasn't like his father had really cared about anything but his goal and duty, either. He certainly hadn't cared about those he left behind.

A wet gasp caught in Felix's throat, very nearly choking him. He tried to clear his throat, but it didn't make the tightness go away. His vision blurred despite his struggles, despite how hard he clenched his fist. But it wasn't enough. No, everything crashed against him, bursting out and refusing to be contained.

He tried to wipe the tears away, but more kept coming. He tried to keep his breaths under control, but that only made them come out as heaving sobs. He tried to stay standing, at least to have some form of defiance against the universe, but his legs crumpled beneath him. He couldn't get up, he couldn't run away from it.

It wasn't fair. They'd been fighting for years, just on that line between cordiality and bitter loathing. They'd never seen eye to eye, never bothered to. And, even though Felix had resented his father's presence among them, there was something comforting about him being there. About him being that guiding voice at the War Table. About him at least trying to bridge that chasm between them.

And Felix had spat at it and turned away.

And he'd never get the chance to make up for it.

It was Glenn all over again. The promise to someday surpass his brother still sat in his heart like a thorn, digging at him every time he'd made any level of improvement. There was no way to know if this was the thing that would have put them on an even field, that would have gotten his brother to smile in pride. Likewise, Felix would never know if he would ever have seen eye-to-eye with his father. If he'd ever do anything to get the man to smile at him--to even _look_ at him--like he'd always looked at Glenn. It was just another thorn--longer, curved--to sit by Glenn's in his chest.

Even Felix could admit that Glenn's death had broken him with the lingering heartache and regret--that it burned the frivolities of carefree smiles and an open heart to the ground, leaving only cynicism. What, then, would be left when the tears stopped _this_ time?

A knock on the door, quick and firm, broke him from his self-pitying. His head snapped up, focused on the door. Waiting, listening. But nothing. No noise on the other side, no shift in the shadows in the crack at the bottom.

Whoever was there was very patient.

He let out a slow exhale. It didn't shake the hitching in his breath entirely, but at least he wasn't sobbing. Though it did absolutely nothing for the fact that his throat felt like it was on fire. Trying his best to disregard that, he rubbed the tears from his eyes, even though he was pretty sure that concealed just about nothing.

Well, at least his knees were stable now, even though he couldn't quite shake the sensation of pins digging into his flesh. Each step shot pain up his leg and deep into his spine, refusing to diminish.

If it was some random well-wisher, he'd slam the door in their face. if it was Mercedes or Annette, he'd mutter some sort of 'thank you' and more kindly shut the door in their face. For just about anyone else, he'd do something between the two.

Though, if it was Sylvain or Ingrid, he was pretty sure he'd have more success just throwing himself out the window. The last thing he needed was them acting like they understood. Acting like they could do anything to make it tolerable; like words were anything but useless.

But, on the other side of the door, there was no one there. He leaned just a bit forward, but there was no one down the hall, either. The halls were very nearly pitch black, all the doors shut and presumably locked for the night (how long, exactly, had he been in his room?). There wasn't even the slightest sign that anyone _had_ been in that hall recently, either.

That was, except for the bowl sitting at his feet.

The smell was unmistakable, even though it was rather limited by the (presumable) hours of isolation and crying. Even in that faint state, though, Daphnel Stew was still Daphnel Stew--incomparable to anything else.His stomach responded almost too eagerly, growling loud enough that it certainly echoed in the halls.

Well, whoever had left it had the sense to leave him be. So, at the very least, Felix could humor them.

  
  


A full stomach and an hour of sleep gave him enough strength to take everything that threatened to overwhelm him, that wanted to crush him, and shove it deep into the far recesses of his mind. After all, if he wanted to leave his room, he had to keep control of himself. And, if he wanted to avoid the shudder of his fingers and the tremble in his throat every time he was idle for too long, then he needed to leave his room.

He stepped into the training hall, grabbing a practice sword like he had a thousand times before. It was good that he didn't really have the energy to pick a fight, otherwise he was certain he'd have challenged the dozen people who paused in their practice to look at him. It was better just to pretend they didn't exist. At least for now.

He struck the dummy with all his strength, with as little mercy as possible. Enough to make the sound of wood against stiff fabric reverberate in the training grounds, stifling any lingering whispers or foolish chatter. When anyone tried to approach him, he was only more violent in his strikes against his unfortunate inanimate target.

Their concerns were stupid, naive. They were at war. There was no time for emotions, for anything other than someone who could help them win. Felix didn't have his brother's charm or innate skill at everything. He didn't have his father's wisdom and technique. All he had was his blade. All he could be was another soldier who could take his orders and execute them, regardless of the miles of graves behind them.

And that meant he had to practice. He had to keep his skills sharp, had to overcome the still-lingering remnants of his injury. He had to be not only better--he had to be the best. Regardless of whatever circumstance stood in his way.

The training caught up with him sooner than expected, leaving him panting and with limbs drained as he glared at his target. But the exhaustion was good. It meant that he could just go back to his room, collapse in his bed. He could ignore the thoughts buzzing in his head and the involuntary movements of his body that just refused to heed him.

He ignored anyone that tried to talk to him as he went to his room.

Well, mostly anyone. While he could avoid the other soldiers and his former classmates, he couldn't ignore his own men.

It was expected; with Rodrigue dead, it only made sense that they wanted to know what their new leader expected of them. In such tumultuous times, they wanted a minor comfort in the fact that Felix knew them, knew their concerns, and acted in the interest of Fraldarius and the Kingdom. They needed to know that their Duke wasn't broken--that he could do what they needed. If they survived all this, then Fraldarius would only need _t_ _he_ Duke--someone capable of leading the recovery effort and bringing them back to a pleasant normal. They needed a man who could smother his own issues, and look to the best interest of his people.

He just had to ignore the fact that he wanted to retch every time one of them called him Duke Fraldarius.

He could still taste the acid on his tongue even a few hours later as he ascended the stairs to his room.

Felix glanced down at the plate in front of his door, eyebrow raised. Once was a novelty; a second time bordered somewhere between bewildering and annoying.Of course, it was really hard to be angry at rabbit skewers--and a rather generous portion of them, too, piled high on his plate.

His stomach loudly protested at him, unrelenting even as he clenched his jaw and his fist. In all likelihood, there were only a few reasonable suspects. Ingrid sometimes bordered on motherly, so there was a good chance she'd find the most filling thing she could if it was going to be the only meal he ate. It could also be Sylvain, no doubt noticing Felix's absence in the dining hall. Being stupidly overprotective even through all his bluster and pretend stupidity. Then there was the Professor, likely finding it rather disadvantageous if one of his officers died of starvation.

Regardless, he had no interest in humoring them. Then again, ithe rest of his body disagreed wholeheartedly with his stubborness.With a huff, and trying _very_ hard to pretend that it wasn't his stomach's constant protests that drove him, he picked up the plate and quickly retreated into his room. He was just as quick to lock the door behind him.

Felix dropped the plate onto his desk, glaring at it as he fell into his chair. Sitting like this finally let the ache of the day seep into his body in a way that was impossible to ignore. The scar at his side thrummed--very possibly strained. Even his arms and legs felt like he'd been marching and fighting for days--though he couldn't entirely place if that was due to slow recovery . . . or just pathetic form. Even his head hurt, though that could very well just be the combination of hunger and dealing with fools.

He pulled a knee up to his chest, reaching out for one of the skewers. He spun the wood between his fingers, watching the movement of the rabbit tenders as their form made the limited moonlight cast dancing shadows across the desk.

Things were similar before, when Glenn died. It was a distant thought, but still clung in his memory. He hadn't really eaten for days. He'd tried, but the horrible vision of his brother's mangled armor flashed behind his eyelids, ensuring that his stomach couldn't be full for long. It was just better to not eat.

Sure, perhaps this time he wasn't naive enough to think that being hungry would make the ache go away. And it was downright stupid to avoid eating entirely. But he could still control where he was, who he spoke to, what he did. In his room, he could choose to eat or not. He could choose who he spoke to in the training grounds. He could choose that his priorities were his men, and not of the empty sentiments of his comrades in arms.

And, since he hadn't had any say at all in his brother's and father's deaths, there was something comforting in that.

  
  


_"May I join you?"_

_Felix let out a breath, not looking up as he nodded. Like he really needed to look up to know. "You know, you don't always have to listen to my father's 'suggestions'."_

_"I've no idea what you're talking about." Dimitri chuckled as he took the place beside Felix on the edge of the Fraldarius wall, feet dangling over the now-empty training ground. The noise sounded strange-- but between the few months since they'd last seen each other, and Dimitri's voice an octave deeper when it wasn't actively cracking--well it was expected._

_Felix sighed, glancing down at the rack of training weapons. At a lance rusting from lack of use. "Let me guess: he asked you to convince me."_

_"I'm afraid I lacked the opportunity to speak with him." Dimitri noted, heel tapping against stone. "I just followed the sound of a growling stomach and found my way here."_

_Felix snorted. "You couldn't stomach it either."_

_"You're mistaken. I quite enjoyed my meal."_

_"Then next time try not to scowl at it."_

_"Ah . . ."_

_Felix shook his head with a scoff. "You could have just told them. For His Highness, I'm sure they would have dropped everything to make something new."_

_"I imagine the result would be the same." Dimitri noted blandly, shaking his head._

_"Knowing you, not if it was smothered in cheese." Felix wished his voice sounded as light and airy as he wanted it to. He half-wished he could bear the same fake smile and countenance of his father._

_"You shouldn't distract from the point." Dimitri chided, though it lacked the energy. He sighed. "I've never seen you turn down a meat pie."_

_Felix shrugged. "Just wasn't hungry."_

_"Your stomach says otherwise. Rather loudly, I might add."_

_Felix chewed at the inside of his cheek. True, he was hungry. He could hear it, on occasion. It wasn't surprising that others could, too. But the problem was that, without provocation, hunger quickly shifted to nausea. The very thing that used to have him nearly salivating on the table switched to a sensation much like a clawed hand gripping around his stomach--and squeezing. A bite could just as easily turn from satisfying his hunger to having him heaving on the carpet. It was just better to avoid it entirely, at least for now._

_"Felix?" Dimitri leaned forward a little, those blue eyes piercing into him. "Will you tell me what ails you?"_

_Felix's jaw clenched, then unclenched. Then clenched again. "It's nothing."_

_"You used to tell me everything." Dimitri noted. His gaze shifted down to the Training Grounds. To the same lance Felix had stared at._

_"I used to do a lot of things."_

_Dimitri sighed, leaning back. He propped himself up a bit with his arms stretched out behind him. "Should I guess?" There was something in his smile that was unnerving._

_"Do not." Felix glared at that dumb expression. What was it? What made it so uncomfortable?_

_"Let's see . . ." The steel of his gauntlets clicked as he tapped on the stone. "So it has to do with your father. Of course, that really doesn't narrow it down much, does it? Hm . . ."_

_"Leave it." Felix scowled._

_"You know," Dimitri mused, "you could save us both the effort and just tell me."_

_It was frustrating, how stubborn Dimiri could be about things sometimes. Felix had no doubt that he would just be prodded all night until he either gave into Dimitri's questioning or merely collapsed from exhaustion. "I'm . . . the old man arranged for me to be a squire." His fists clenched in his lap. "When the snow melts . . . I'm supposed to begin my training."_

_Dimitri blinked. "Isn't that a good thing?"_

_"No."_

_"You could only improve so much here. Other techniques could . . ." Dimitri rubbed at the back of his neck and sighed. "Regardless, I thought you'd relish a chance away from Fraldarius."_

_"I would but . . ." He rubbed his face. "Not like this."_

_He could feel Dimitri's gaze on him, but he couldn't meet it. The other's voice was soft, solemn. "Because you don't want to be a knight."_

_Felix looked away. It was more than that._

_He didn't want to fight for some stupid ideal of chivalry and honor. He wanted to fight to keep his homeland, his people, safe. To him, it didn't matter if he kept any honor or pride in the matter--whatever it took, it was right. Knights would never abide by that. His father would never allow it, would always bear the memory of his brother--the 'true knight'--like a blade to his throat._

_To refuse knighthood, though, would ultimately mean that he likewise rejected the eventual inevitability of the Shield. And that was an entirely tumultuous mix of emotions on its own. On one hand, he wanted to protect his dearest friend in the world. He knew that, when the day that the role eventually fell upon him came, no one else would be good enough to handle it. No one knew Dimitri like he did, no one knew where he was strongest, and when he needed someone to watch his back. In a way, it_ had _to be Felix._

 _In the same way it once_ had _to be Glenn._

_"I can speak to them, if you want." Dimitri mused. "I don't mind."_

_"You don't have to look after me like I'm a child."_

_"I'm not. You're my friend. I'd rather we resolve it here than--"_

_"Forget it." Felix grumbled. "It's not important."_

_"Of course it is." There was a weird mix to Dimitri's voice, one that Felix couldn't appropriately place. Nearest to irritation, probably. "You shouldn't be forced to do anything."_

_"Says the prince who forced his way through dinner."_

_"Will you just--" Something cracked behind them._

_Felix went to look back, only for his chin to be held between two fingers--forcing him to look at the other. Dimitri's expression was level, though stern. But, close like this, he could see that behind those eyes was an emotion he remembered seeing only a few times before._

_"I refuse for you to be forced to fight for something you don't believe in." He sighed, those blond lashes very nearly grazing his cheeks. His lips were pressed together firm, and edge twitching like there was something sour on his tongue. "I don't want you to--to--"_

_"Just stop." Felix's hand shoved at the gauntlet, trying to push Dimitri away. But, like always, Felix's strength might as well have been that of a child's in comparison to his friend's. And yet . . . the hold on his face was insistent, sure, but gentle. He could pull away, if he wanted._

Did _he want to?_

_Felix exhaled sharply, glaring at Dimitri. Damn him. "I believe in you. That's enough for now."_

  
  


Felix sat up, rubbing his face. He'd slept through the night, somehow. Sure, it had been late when he finally resigned himself to bed, but it was no worse than it had been when he was young.

Considering the throbbing behind his eyes, his sleep had been anything but restful. He shouldn't have been surprised, honestly. His days were spent being pursued by the ghost of his father. It would only make sense that his nights were swallowed by the ghosts of a long-dead friendship.

With a grunt, he swung his legs over the edge of his bed. They were good, but they were probably the only part--his shoulders and side throbbed just as badly as his head did. It felt like all of them were competing for his attention, clawing at him until he would finally cave.

But Felix Fraldarius was nothing if not stubborn.

Scowling, he forced his way through getting dressed and getting ready. The War Table meeting was today, and he was not going to let the others think he was affected--that he was weak. By the time he was dressed, his whole body was aching, leaving his fingers shaky and unreliable as he pulled up his hair. Well, at least it wasn't as long as it had been--a bun would have been entirely impossible to manage.

He glanced in the mirror, making sure he was at least a little presentable. Everything was sitting right-- his coat and gear was no different than it usually was. Even his hair was the standard messy fare, where at least no one would see enough of a difference to comment on it. There wasn't much he could do about the dark circles forming under his eyes, though they were less noticeable if he just glared. It would have to do.

The buckles and clasped on his coat jingled and clicked in a way that felt like they were driving nails behind his eyes. While he contemplated the possibility of either throwing his coat out the nearest window, or just gouging his own eyes out, neither seemed particularly practical for the meeting.

Without warning, he found himself tumbling backward. Sluggishly--slow in a way that certainly would have killed him in the battlefield--he realized a hand on his arm, insistent and unyielding.

He snapped his head around to glare, dong his best to ignore the resulting nausea, and only finding his own reflection in armor. But it was familiar enough to know who. He didn't have to look up at the stupid face.

"Release me." Felix snarled, yanking back his arm.

But it was fruitless. Sylvain's grip was firm, and the lack of sleep did little to help Felix's strength. Even when Felix resorted to rather childish squirming, it gained him no ground. He was nearly--oh so nearly--tempted to draw a blade to dissuade him, but he was certain that would only reflect poorly upon him. And to his dismay, Sylvain noticed this as well, very nearly dragging Felix down to the adjoining room. Ignoring Felix's protests the whole way.

Sylvain didn't look at him until the door slammed behind them. And, when he did, Felix found himself reflectively looking away. It only took a moment to see that expression. Something worried, tired . . . and overly sincere. Potent to an effect that Felix had (previously) been certain Sylvain was absolutely incapable of.

"Hey, are you okay?"

Felix scowled. "You dragged me here for this?" He scoffed, snapping his arm away successfully this time. He tried to ignore the ache as he shoved past Sylvain. "What a waste of my time."

He found himself pulled back by his coat--a hand gripping the belt at his lower back. Sylvain's voice was firm, almost chillingly so. "Then answer the question."

Felix stopped in place, glaring at the door. It was so close. Close enough that he very nearly could forget his headache. "I'm fine."

"Could have fooled me." Sylvain muttered. Slowly, his eyes ran over Felix's face. "You look like shit."

"I'm. Fine."

Sylvain's exhale was long and uneven, bordering somewhere between exhaustion and frustration. It ground hard against Felix's nerves and mood. "Have you even eaten? No one's seen you the Dining Hall in the last few--"

"It's none of your business."

"Felix, of _course_ it's my business! I know what you're going through, but--"

" _Do_ you?" Felix growled. No, of course not. Felix knew Sylvain's sentiments about his brother had been mixed, but this was different. Miklan had fostered all animosity between himself and his family. his death had been a blessing. This time . . . this time it was Felix's fault. And it was his regret to rightfully bear. "Don't pretend. I'm not one of those skirts you chase."

Though his coat, he could feel Sylvain flinch.

Good, that meant he had a chance to get Sylvan to leave him the hell alone. He fixed Sylvain with the most withering glare he could manage. "The _last_ person I'd want any sympathy or help from is _you_."

Sylvain's hand fell, and Felix made his retreat.

He didn't have to look across the table to see Sylvain's expression, he could very nearly feel the man emanating the essence of a kicked pup. A part of him felt bad. A little.

In truth, Sylvain was just doing what he always did. He had taken it upon himself to watch over them since they were little; it was stupid to think that it would go away now. It had always been comforting, admittedly. But, now, he was certain it would just take one step over the line for Felix to crumble completely. And Sylvain was very, _very_ good at crossing the line.

But ignoring Sylvain wasn't the hardest part. It was ignoring the looks from everyone else in the room. It wasn't constant, but clear enough in her periphery that everyone kept glancing at him whenever they weren't looking at the Professor. It was easy enough to avoid catching their eyes by looking at the papers in front of him. The words blurred together, entirely illegible.

He wished he had the energy enough to listen in. There were pieces here and there that he could catch. Dimitri would be rejoining them soon. They would be halting their advance on Enbarr. Their next goal was to reclaim Fhirdiad.

When they were dismissed, he was the first to leave. The orders were crumpled in his fist--details he'd need to reread, perhaps after another 6 hours of sleep. Maybe 10. Anything to get the pounding in his head to leave him be. Anything to just avoid the pain for a little bit longer.

He had to take care. He wasn't the most stealthy or perceptive soldier, but he knew when he was being followed. Knew he'd have to take a different corridor, then an alley that took him far from his standard haunts. After that was a walk behind the Knight's Hall, going upstairs only when the coast was clear. It didn't matter who it was--he had no desire to deal with them.

Pleased with himself at evading his pursuers, he stepped down the hall at a more leisurely pace. Which was good--his legs were tired and unreliable, and his stomach clenching in a way that he was pretty sure the spare skewer left would not satisfy.

And then he froze. Before him--standing right in front of his room, was a heaping pile of fur, draped over a long and tattered azure cloak. A pile Felix hadn't seen for weeks, that he'd actively avoided since his injury (for reasons he wishes were just anger, but shame comprised more of it than anything).

The man his father died for, and who Felix couldn't bring himself to blame.

If it were a normal day, he'd turn around. Just retreat downstairs and back to the Training Grounds. Or down to the Library. Or maybe even to the Knight's Hall. He would force all the anger out of his system, get himself tired . . . stall until he was sure that it was absolutely impossible for the Boar to still be there.

But he was already tired. And his destination was _right there_.

Inhaling sharply, he crossed the gap between them.

"I've no interest in beasts around my room." Felix said, voice low and threatening. He kept his movements slow, keenly watching as Dimitri's shoulderstwitched with surprise. A wrong move, and he could find himself thrown out the window. But . . . if he made it clear who it was, perhaps the man would leave of his own accord. "Take your prowling elsewhere."

Dimitri's head moved slowly, gaze delayed in following. But there was that one icy eye, looking down upon him. Not as an enemy, and not as another ghost. Just . . . full of something Felix couldn't bring himself to understand.

It didn't matter. His door was _right_ there.

Since he wasn't regarded as an enemy, he stepped closer, eyeing the Boar the whole time even as the fur brushed against his coat. He ignored it, reaching for his door.

And then he saw it. A plate in Dimitri's hands. Cheese gratin: still warm, the steam rising in the cooler air. The smell impossible to ignore, and making Felix's stomach clench all the more.

Of course Dimitri would have been drawn to it. Probably even more so if he still avoided most places that weren't the Cathedral.

"If you want it," Felix said, voice cold as he shouldered his way past that stupid fur and that stupid armor to get a hand on the doorknob, turning it, "then just take it and go."

"Felix--"

Felix slammed the door between them. It was easy to ignore the muffled noises on the other side of his door as he wandered toward his bed, legs shaky. Easy to drown them out as he fell into it, eyes closing even despite the brightness in the room. He didn't stay awake long enough to even know if they stopped, or faded away.

Hunger wasn't going to interrupt his sleep this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so sorry for the delay guys. I super didn't mean to leave this on a cliffhanger . . . I originally had planned to have this chapter out a week later. But writer's block hit really hard, so sorry about that.


	7. Chapter 7

"Alright." Byleth straightened, flicking the tip of the training blade behind him as he set his shoulders, chin held high. His eyes narrowed. "And again."

Felix charged on cue, blade swinging down fast and hard. The contact made his side ache, but at this point it was so dull that it was hardly worth his concern. It no longer hindered the speed of his attacks, nor did it particularly interfere with his ability to dodge and parry. He was able to fall back into the rhythm of battle, able to meet each of the Professor's strikes with his own.

Of course, even before this, he was barely a match for the man, and certainly not superior. He couldn't so much as land any proper hits, nor could he find any opening for an upper hand. Though shameful, it was not surprising to find that blade quickly pointed at his throat once more.

". . . not bad." The blade shifted away, replaced only by the rather cold and cutting evaluation of those absurdly green eyes.

Felix tried not to let his exhaustion show. Of everything, he'd yet to completely recover his stamina. It wasn't horrible, but it was pathetic compared to how it'd been before. It was the only thing that could hold him back. He tried to keep his breaths even, even though it made his chest burn.

"I'm impressed." Byleth mused, a near-softness to his tone.

Felix's gaze snapped up, finding himself a little breathless. "Does that mean . . .?"

"Let's talk over lunch."If he wasn't mistaken, that was a smile.

Felix scowled. He should have known. In a childish vengeance, he offered only a nod in return.

To be fair, eating with his former Professor wasn't entirely a bad thing. His taste in meals was actually decent, seeming to have an uncanny sense of his guests’ preferences. Plus, he wasn’t like the others, particularly because he had no penchant for chattering; if there was any conversation at all, it was expected to be filled by his dining partners, while he contributed little (if anything) to the matter. And, because of his position in general, people were less inclined to intrude upon their meal--meaning Felix wouldn't have to really deal with anyone else. In that aspect, at least, it was the perfect alternative to eating alone in his room. Or not eating at all.

In fact, joining Byleth had encouraged Felix to eat more than once a day, which—admittedly--had improved his recovery. It still wasn’t appealing to eat, but Felix had to get over it. It wasn’t like he could say no to the invitation(no one ever did). Plus, it was increasingly obvious that Byleth made his meals last until Felix was finished with his own. It kind of gave him no choice _but_ to eat it all, unless he wanted to sit in the Dining Hall all day.

The issue was that Byleth called him to join _daily_.

He glared down at his stew, knowing there wouldn’t be much benefit in glaring at the Professor. The man would either be completely impervious, or he would simply hold Felix's evaluation hostage as punishment. Or, worse, the infuriating man would invite Dimitri to join them again, as he so often did.And so the stew would have to be his unfortunate victim.For now.

Of course, Byleth just had to ruin the peaceful silence. “As we were saying,” he said, pausing to take a bite of a breadroll, “you’ve been impressing me lately in the Training Grounds.”

Felix snorted. “You said as much there.”

“If I’m being honest, I didn’t expect you to recover to this extent in the last two weeks. I thought that wound would take much longer.”

Realistically, it should have. Felix had taken on near-constant training to drown out the grief still coiling in the back of his mind, eager to push himself just enough to ensure he’d fall asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. In normal circumstances, this would have crippled him. He wasn’t so stupid as to pretend that it wouldn’t.

He knew he had Byleth to thank for this. The man had been adamant about enforcing this ridiculous mealtime habit, and took it upon himself to guide Felix’s drills and training. He had encouraged Felix to re-pursue magic, which proved just as exhausting as the blade without the intrinsic threat to a wound. And, since Felix had no choice but to accept, he was actually getting halfway decent. Realistically, this could prevent such issues from happening again.

Felix stabbed one of the meat chunks with his fork, shoving it into his mouth. He’d accept it, but he would never, ever say that out loud.

Just like he’d never say that there was a good chance that Byleth would still restrict him to support roles, regardless of his progress. There was a good chance that he wasn't good enough to be worth that risk.

“Just get on with it.” He muttered.

Byleth smiled. "If you're up to it, I would like you to return to the front lines."

Felix very nearly dropped his fork, forcing his fingers to clench around it harder than necessary. He tried not to gape, but was failing miserably. "You're leaving it to me?"

"From what I've seen, you're more than capable." Byleth mused, head tilted slightly. "And it would be helpful for the upcoming mission."

Tension rolled off his shoulders, letting him feel more at ease as he ate. It would have been infuriating to be left on the sidelines again. And devastating if something happened in his absence.Again.

So shouldn't it have been obvious that he'd say yes? But . . . "How so?"

"Cornelia will be prepared for us." The Professor muttered, looking down at his stew. Felix could very nearly see the of calculations going on behind those eyes of his. "We need every advantage we can get."

Felix couldn't argue. She was, after all, _exceedingly_ prepared when it came to fooling everyone about Dimitri's fate, and when it came to handing over most of the Kingdom in one fell swoop. There was little question that she would be more prepared with ample time and resources behind her.

But by the expression on Byleth's face, Felix was pretty sure the Professor already knew that.

"Sheer numbers won't cut it. She'll have us outnumbered. And most of her men will be using lances. Most Kingdom forces do, even the former ones." He rested his chin on his palm. As much as he'd hate to admit it, he'd provide little advantage against that. While had had the speed, he just didn't have enough reach to make it beneficial. "Hope you have a plan for that."

"I have an idea. But, for you, specifically," he swallowed, fork tapping against his bowl, "I was actually hoping to have you fight alongside Dimitri again."

"You _what_?" Felix didn't even try to hide the venom in his tone.

Byleth winced. "No one knows him like you do. No one's ever watched his back as well as you have."

"And that worked _so_ well last time." Well, technically he did do what he was supposed to--but that wasn't the point!

The Professor let out a slow exhale. His expression slid into something far more serious. "Cornelia will be targeting him. There's no point reclaiming a Kingdom if its king isn't alive to claim it."

Felix's jaw clenched as he stared down at the table.

It was inevitable. She'd failed to kill him once--there was no doubt that she'd try to do it again. If she succeeded, the Empire would win. Without the symbol of Dimitri to rally around, it was practically certain that their forces would crumble. They _needed_ him to survive.

But after that . . . then what? Was it a man or a monster that they were putting on the throne?

"Ultimately," Byleth sighed, "I don't want to force you into a position you don't feel ready for. Or . . ." he cleared his throat, "that you don't wish to pursue."

Felix slowly raised his gaze. "Do you . . . need an answer now?"

"No, but I--"

"Oh." The familiar voice rumbled through Felix's bones, setting every nerve on edge. Felix didn't--absolutely refused to--look up at its owner. "May I join you?"

Felix shot up from his seat, ignoring the way he nearly toppled his bowl. It was hard to ignore how close Dimitri's stupid silver armor was to him (it was a miracle he didn't run into it). "I was just leaving."

"Ah," in the corner of Felix's vision, he could see Dimitri color just slightly, "please--don't let me intrude."

Felix scowled. "We were done anyway." He shot a glare over at the Professor, like that could actually dissuade him from arguing. He stepped away from his seat, grabbing his half-empty bowl with such force that made its contents splash onto the table and his gloves. "Thanks for the meal."

Well, it wasn't like he was especially hungry, anyway.

  
  


Felix sighed, staring at the flickering in the fireplace of the Knight's Hall. This time of night, the Monastery itself was pretty empty, most people having the sense to sleep. Only a few wanderers still lingered--some trying to make the most of the days they had left, other's still grasping for ways to improve themselves. Some, like him, restless and unable to sleep with an uncertain fate looming before them.

He knew Byleth was right. They would lose everything if Dimitri died while they were advancing on Fhirdiad. And he also knew the man wouldn't have the sense to stay behind; if he was a beast, he would do anything to fill his bloodlust; if he was a man, then he would not let others die for him.

The thing was . . . Felix didn't know which of those Dimitri actually was.

True, he wasn't entirely the raging monster that he'd been for the last few months (probably the last few years) . . . but he was still impossible to read. When they were together at the Dining Hall, Dimitri seemed quiet, thoughtful. In the War Room meetings, he listened to the others, taking in their opinions and thoughts. His words and actions had a sort of mournfulness, an inherent unease, but it was muted. While it was doubtless that those ghosts of his still lingered, there was a good chance that he was no longer letting them gradually pull him into the earth with them.

Then again, there was the possibility that this was _really_ Dimitri--a Dimitri who had faced little else but difficulty, who was finally allowing himself to grieve and grow past the ghosts of the dead--a man ready to become the king he was always meant to be. A man that Felix would be all to happy to follow.

But it was equally likely that this was _exactly_ like the Dimitri in the Academy--just another mask that would crack again. If the boar had not been conquered, then it would eventually break free, and its rage would be monstrous.

And a monster on the throne was a terrifying thought.

Footsteps caught his attention--rapid, unsteady. Like those of a battle, but without any of the accompanying metallic accents. Strangely unbalanced for an otherwise quiet night.

Felix pressed his lips together, rising from his seat with his hand on his blade. There were a few possibilities, if he thought about it. A late night tryst, or maybe a scuffle between soldiers. With times and tensions as they were, it seemed fairly feasible. Fortunately, it wouldn't be hard to scare them away.

Of course, it was possibly something less benign. Felix's hand clenched around the grip, footsteps forced slow and silent as he moved toward the doorway. It was not entirely uncommon for leaders to send assassins after their rivals. And it certainly wasn't above Cornelia to resort to such dubious methods. If her hire was startled--such as by a change in the guard or unexpected wanderer--they could very easily make such a noisy misstep. One that the guards wouldn't notice.

If it _was_ Cornelia's lackey, then it was certain who the target would be. Which meant Felix needed to handle it quickly.

A voice made him freeze. "Look--can't we just--c'mon--"

Felix was only a few paces away from the doorway, but he could hear the man clearly. The voice was rough, not much louder than a harsh whisper, but very unmistakably Sylvain's.

A tryst, then.

"Tch." Felix rubbed his face, mentally scolding himself at his stupidity. He turned, glaring back at his chair.

Of _course_ it wasn't an assassin. Cornelia would rather kill Dimitri in front of an audience. Merely announcing it had only sewn unrest and distrust. It hadn't been enough before, and she wasn't stupid enough to think it would work again. She'd likely prefer to announce it by putting Dimitri's head on a pike outside the city gates.

The hard clang of metal against stone made Felix's attention snap back to the door.

"I--I'm sorry." There was a slight tremble to Sylvain's voice. Felix had only heard it that way a handful of times: when he'd been badly injured, or when he was ever summoned back to Gautier, or when his brother had died--always when that smile was slipping. "I'm just not . . . really into that anymore."

There was a harsh noise, a cold whisper of whoever it was with him. Felix stepped a bit closer, hand pressed against the frame of the doorway. Even this close, even with all his attention focused, he couldn't make out her words.

Felix glanced around the edge as the other person continued to speak, but the weak light was little help. He could tell Sylvain's shape--hard to miss it after fighting together so long. The other figure was definitely female--maybe a bit taller than Felix, and not particularly bulky. So not in the cavalry or infantry, then. She had a hand pressed against, or curled into, Sylvain's breastplate, effectively pinning him against the wall in the small hall that made up the entrance to this room.

And she was _really_ good at being impossible to hear, even this close.

Sylvain laughed, the noise weak and so _so_ fake. "I guess priorities change when there's a good chance of not surviving the next day." He hummed, his tone dropping significantly. It was uncharacteristically cold. "And you're not one of 'em."

There was the flash of light, and Felix could see the woman's fist raised high, flames curling around her fingers. In the light of the flames, Felix could see a flicker of panic cross Sylvain's expression.

Felix acted on instinct, bolting from his hiding place and charging at her.

He grabbed her wrist, yanking her flaming fist down as hard as he possibly could. Lightning shot down his arm, sparking off his skin before blasting through the contact point between them. He could feel the woman tense as his Thoron coursed through her body, barely allowing her a shriek before she crumpled to the ground.

With a blade, Felix was lethal. With magic, he could incapacitate at best. So at least he could be certain that he hadn't killed her.

Panting, Felix looked down at her body. Unconscious, but still breathing. He shifted, glancing at her armor. A mercenary, one of the traveling groups with little allegiance and--in this case--far less honor. It wouldn't take more than a word or two for Byleth to dismiss them.

And he'd certainly have to report this to keep it from happening again.

"Are you alright?" He asked, glancing over at Sylvain.

Sylvain's eyes were wide, mouth agape. "Uh . . ." He glanced down at the woman, then back at Felix. "Yeah, thanks to you."

Felix snorted. "You should have fought back."

"Yeah, well . . ." Sylvain brought a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it like a fool. He looked away. "Still, thanks."

Felix pressed his lips together. He'd recovered mostly everything since he'd learned the news of his father's death. His grief sat on him like Glenn's--still painful, but manageable. His appetite was back, for the most part. His wound was mostly healed, and he could prove that he didn't need to be left behind in battle. And he was more controlled and measured in his conversations, at least back to his normal mood.

The only thing that hadn't recovered was his relationship with Sylvain.

Sylvain had hardly changed since they were kids, so it wasn't like Felix hadn't known what to expect. It was just who Sylvain was. If there was anyone Felix could have possibly opened up to, it would have been him. But in that moment, with the world shattering around him, it had been unbearable.

It had been wrong for that moment, it wasn't what he needed, but the intention was there all the same. So it was wrong for Felix to do so blatantly and willingly hurt him.

"Listen," Felix muttered, shifting his weight back and forth between his feet. He had to set this right. He had to apologize. He knew it. Why was it so hard? "I--"

He put a hand on his blade to steady himself and was immediately blinded by a searing pain. It shot up his arm, radiating in throbbing bursts. He flinched and yanked his hand away, cradling it with his uninjured one, but it didn't make the pain ease. It just amplified more with every throb, making his breath catch in his throat.

Instantly, Sylvain's hands were on Felix's, turning Felix's hand with a gentle guide of his wrist, just to see his palm. "What's wrong?"

Felix grimaced at the sight. The center of his glove had been burned through, the remaining singed fabric pressing against his skin. The damage was significant, though it wasn't to the bone. Without a healer, though, it would get infected.

Sylvain's thumb brushed just outside the reddened and rapidly blistering skin. "Let me--" He twitched, hands immediately dropping. When Felix glanced up, he looked away. "I'm . . . sure Professor Manuela is still up. You should have her check that out."

Felix blinked in confusion. Realization rapidly followed.

He had been rather cold in his dismissal of Sylvain--doubtless the elder was certain that Felix was repulsed by Sylvain's very touch, let alone his help. Or, more likely, he just saw dealing with Felix as no longer worthwhile. And Felix couldn't exactly blame him.

"Sylvain," he muttered, jaw clenched tight, "can you . . . can you . . ." Why was it so difficult?!

Sylvain's gaze snapped to him, so damn eager, so interested, and Felix had to look away.

Fine. One step at a time. "Can you heal this? I'm not . . . exactly . . . looking forward to Manuela drunk-flirting."

In his peripherals, he could see Sylvain blink. "What, really?"

Felix frowned. Not from displeasure, or anger--he just didn't know what to do with his face. Frowns and scowls always seemed to be enough. He nodded.

Slowly, that standard fake smile shifted into something Felix had always been more familiar with. Radiant, kind. This was too much, especially in contrast to everything else. But still, in it's own way, it was . . . comforting.

His eyes fell on the body still unconscious between them. "Not here."

Sylvain's gaze followed. "Er, yeah. Not really keen on what'll happen when she wakes up."

  
  


"How's that feel?"

Felix sighed, slowly clenching and unclenching his fist. The area was stiff, uncomfortable with the magic still swirling beneath his skin, but it was workable. In a few hours, it would be good as new. No one would be any the wiser about it.

Well, except for anyone who saw his glove, at least. It had been literally cut off to minimize any more fabric getting in his wound. And then the remaining pieces had been carefully plucked from his palm (and _that_ was such a joy to experience--even with minor magic being used to ease the pain, Felix had been glad that the Training Grounds were empty, lest everyone see him as hopelessly pathetic from his small whimpers and whines). The mangled and singed pile was still sitting rather pathetically next to them.

"Good." Felix hummed, letting his hand fall into his lap. "It feels good."

Sylvain sighed, shifting to cross his legs. With a sigh, he leaned over, his arm pressed against Felix's shoulder. A bead of sweat dripped down his forehead. "Good. I'm beat."

Felix exhaled slowly. Well, now or never. ". . . Sorry."

Sylvain chuckled. "Hey, you saved my pretty face. It's the least I could--"

"Not about that." Felix glanced away. "For before. I'm sorry."

In his peripheral, Sylvain's smile faltered, then fell away completely. To Felix's dismay, Sylvain pulled away, hands clenched in his lap. "Oh. That."

Felix could feel heat crawl up his neck and over his cheeks. It was clear he'd botched this already. Only he could screw up an apology in ten words or less.

_Or_ Sylvain was no longer in the mood to tolerate Felix's moods. Frankly, if Sylvain had any sort of intelligence or self-preservation, it would be this.

He swallowed, lacing his fingers together. "You didn't deserve it."

"I was trying to help you, you know." Sylvain's tone was cold in a way that made Felix twitch. Not unlike how he was with that woman.

"I know."

"You might as well have spit in my face."

"I _know_."

"Then again," Sylvain sighed, "you've always been rather cruel about, you know, everything."

Not forgiven, then. That was fair.

For years, Felix had refused to forgive Dimitri for what he'd become, for tossing aside everything his brother had died for. Likewise, he'd hadn't forgiven his father for how he treated Glenn's death, not until after he had died. So it really only made sense for someone to refuse to forgive him.

Even if that someone was Sylvain.

Felix rose to his feet, lips pressed firmly together. He'd deserved this. "I understand." With some care, he bent to pick up the fragments of his glove. "Thank you again . . . for this."

"Wait." Sylvain grabbed his wrist, looking up at Felix with his eyes wide and a trace of panic in the quirk of his eyebrows. His smile was lopsided, wry at best. This was perhaps the most honestly expressive he'd been since they were kids. "I'm not saying I don't forgive you, I just . . ."

"Then get on with it." Felix winced when he realized how demanding he sounded. "I . . . sorry."

"You gotta stop saying sorry." Sylvain laughed. "It's creeping me out."

Felix glared.

"Much better." Gently, Sylvain pulled at Felix's arm, guiding him back to sit at his side. "I just wanted to make a point."

"And what's that?"

"That, through thick and thin, I'm still here for you." Sylvain smiled. "I know you think you're alone, that you don't even need help. But, even through you being, like, the worst friend ever, you still have me. Talk to me, and I'll listen."

Felix hummed, smirk on his lips. "You sure you want to commit to that?"

"Depends. You going to join me for breakfast tomorrow?"

  
  


Felix sighed, looking down at the meal stacked high on his plate. About half he had chosen for himself. The rest, of course, piled on by Sylvain. "I'm not a child. You don't have to baby me." He muttered.

"Aw, c'mon Felix." Sylvain laughed, wrapping an arm around his friend's shoulders. "I'm just making up for some lost time. I bet you lost so much weight that I could carry you one-handed."

"Try and I'll cut it off." Fortunately, the words this time _weren't_ venomous.

He knew that, to an extent, Sylvain was right. Disregarding the stupidly innate strength that Sylvain just happened to grow into, it was true that Felix had lost some weight. Between his long recovery and then only eating a meal a day, his coat definitely fit looser. With Byleth's intervention, he was slowly going back to it, but the difference was clear enough.

"Get some meat back on you and I won't." Sylvain glanced down at his own plate. "By the way, I got some extra sausage. You interested?"

Felix was about to respond with an 'of course I am, don't be an idiot', before he was interrupted.

"Felix." Byleth paused in front of them, gaze flicking to Sylvain. He nodded slightly. "Sylvain."

Sylvain grinned. "Oh! Good morning Professor."

"I don't wish to intrude," Byleth continued, "but I was hoping we could finish our conversation from yesterday."

Felix glanced over to their usual spot, just by the opposite door. Byleth's several plates were already there, taking up some space. And, across from the unattended meal, there sat the Boar. He was slowly working at his meal, bites slow and methodical. And glaring right at them.

Felix felt a chill down his spine and resisted the urge to shudder. "It was a private conversation."

"Well, considering the company, I thought--"

"You thought wrong."

"Felix, if you could--

"Sorry, Professor." Sylvain chuckled, tapping his fingertips against Felix's chest where his hand currently rested. "This is the first time in weeks since we've gotten to talk. Better luck next time."

Byleth's expression fell slightly, but he nodded. "Within the week, at least."

Felix huffed. "Fine."

"Talk to you later, Professor!" Sylvain grinned, using his arm around Felix's shoulders to lead him to the opposite end of the Dining Hall.

It was early enough in the morning that the tables were fairly occupied by soldiers, which mercifully meant that Felix wouldn't have to look at Dimitri while he ate. Which was a blessing; he was pretty sure he could feel the Boar's glare upon him the whole way to their spot.

Maybe he was angry that Byleth so much as suggested that he needed a guard, a babysitter. Or maybe he was mad that Felix had essentially refused by saying nothing. Or maybe he--

"Care to explain what that was about?" Sylvain asked, taking his seat across from Felix.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Felix muttered, shoving eggs into his mouth.

"We talked about this." Sylvain mused, tone still light as he tossed his sausages into Felix's plate. He stole some fruit as payment.

Felix glanced up. _'Don't shut me out',_ Sylvain had said, when they were walking back to their rooms. He sighed. "I'm not . . . comfortable being there."

"Huh." Sylvain twirled his fork between his fingers. "You've been eating with them for, like, weeks."

"It was . . . beneficial."

"Well, I mean, sure. The Professor's the best when it comes to swordsmanship. And Dimitri's . . . you know . . . coming back. It's probably nice--"

"People left me alone."

"Oh." Sylvain blinked. " _Oh_."

"I didn't want to be bothered. And they're--"

"Generally sticks in the mud." Sylvain sighed. "You really could have just told me. If you were that worried about people approaching you, I would have brought you meals."

Felix stared down at the meat piled on his plate, not unlike those that had been left at his door. _I thought you did_. But he wasn't going to say that. If it wasn't Sylvain, and Sylvain didn't know about it, then it was better left unsaid. Maybe a mystery better left unsolved.

"Okay, so. Let me get this right." Sylvain pointed his fork at him. "You ate with them because people didn't approach you there. And why would they? If the fact that they're leading the army doesn't get you, the fact that they're just . . . intimidating . . .would." He paused, the fork bouncing with his thoughts. "And it was good for you because they were quiet. So then . . . what changed?"

Felix glanced up at him, lips pressed tight. Sylvain would think he was an idiot. Or regressing to his teen days. Or just lashing out at everyone else because it wasn't like he could lash out at his father anymore. Sylvain would tell him that Dimitri had changed, that he should just accept it like everyone else did. That it would be better for everyone if he just stopped acting like a child and did it.

After all, wasn't Felix more desperate than anyone to get Dimitri back? Wasn't he the one who had hunted for five years? Who, not so long ago, had very nearly begged the Professor to fix this?

"Felix?" Sylvain leaned forward, concern clear on his face.

Felix looked away. "The Professor wants be back in the battlefield."

"That's . . . good, isn't it?"

"Protecting the Boar."

". . . Ah." Sylvain leaned back, eyebrows knitted together. Felix could very nearly see the thoughts swimming in his head.

He scowled. "You don't have to say it."

"Mm?"

"That I should just do it and stop . . . whatever this is."

"Well . . . that's kind of on you. Do you want to?"

Felix blinked. He hadn't exactly expected _that_. Had never considered anything but whether or not he _should_. "I--no--yes--I--I don't know."

"You don't?" Sylvain returned to his meal, still watching Felix. "You always seemed to know what you wanted before."

"I'm aware."

"So . . . what's stopping you?"

"I . . . want to take on my role properly. Fraldarius has always been the Shield of the King. If this is . . . Dimitri . . . I want to. But I . . ."

"You're not sure it's him?"

"How can _you_ be?" Felix rubbed his face. Memories of blood and gore and pure terror, hidden then, flashed in his mind. "After everything we've seen?"

Sylvain sighed, resting his chin in his palm. He rolled one of his sausages under his fork, scowling at it. "I've been watching. He's not the same as when we were kids but . . . I think he's still Dimitri." He smirked. "He still scolds me for 'prowling' at night."

"He could become that beast again."

"He became that thing last time because he was alone." Sylvain's gaze seemed distant. "We won't let him be alone again. Or . . . at least I won't."

"We might not be able to stop it." Felix frowned. "And . . . a monster on the throne . . ."

"Ugh! This is getting too serious!" Sylvain complained, tossing his fork to the table. He rested his hands behind his head and stretched a bit. "It's too early for me to be tired."

Felix smiled slightly and returned his attention to his meal, shaking his head. In a way, he knew Sylvain was right. Dimitri was always unstable, ever since Duscur. Felix had seen it, and had utterly rejected it. It was, without a doubt, his fault that Dimitri had taken on that other face, just so he wouldn't be alone. Sylvain and Ingrid hadn't known him as well as Felix did, so they never would have been able to tell. No doubt that only alienated him further.

And then, after Edelgard's and Cornelia's betrayal, Dimitri had been alone again. Everything he had quelled since his youth had broken out, with no one around for him to try and hide from. Let loose, unrestrained, those thoughts had warped him into a monster.

If someone had only tried to understand . . . then maybe Dimitri would have been okay. If only Felix had tried to understand.

But that was the past. Such companionship and understanding would only work if the Boar hadn't eaten away at Dimitri completely. If it didn't even leave his bones, then there would be nothing left to save. But if there was a fragment, even just a trace . . .

Felix sighed. "You can just say it."

"Say what?"

"That I'm an idiot."

"Nah. Idiot is my job." Sylvain smiled.

Felix snorted. "True enough."

"Hey, that's rude!"

For the first time in probably years, they laughed. Sylvain's was loud and boisterous, and Felix's muted, but a laugh was a laugh. It left a lightness in the chest that Felix had been aching to have even a taste of, no matter how temporary. And it was, indeed, quite a temporary feeling.

Still, it allowed them to enjoy the remainder of their breakfast in a peaceful and amiable silence. Felix ate until he couldn't anymore, which coincidentally was when the plate was empty.

Sylvain took Felix's dirty dishes, stacking them on his own. "Hey, I have an idea."

"What?"

"Let's go to the Training Ground. Get some practice in."

"You hate sparring."

"Hey, it's the best way to get all this confused energy out." Sylvain grinned, rising from his seat. "Give us a fresh perspective."

Felix blinked. Well, dummies certainly weren't very good at giving him a clear head. But fighting Byleth had given him some semblance of peace. Fighting Sylvain wouldn't be too much different, and would have the added bonus of _not_ being the Professor with his stupid expectations.

Felix gave a curt nod. "You know I don't turn down a chance to spar."

"Perfect!" Sylvain lighted up, quickly rounding the table and hooking his arm around Felix's. "Let's go, then!"

  
  


"I need . . ." Sylvain gasped, sprawled out on the training ground floor, "I need a minute. Or . . . ten . . ."

Felix rolled his eyes, stepping closer and looking down at his friend with a scowl. "It's amazing you've made it this far. I haven't broken a sweat."

"Hey," Sylvain panted, wiping away the sweat on his forehead with a dirtied glove, "you're supposed to still be injured. Should've been an . . . an easy win."

"I told you," Felix rolled his eyes, "I've been cleared to return to the battlefield."

"Ugh. Right." Sylvain draped an arm over his eyes. It just made the dirtied smudge on his face worse. "You know, you should just ask His Highness to spar."

Felix hummed. That wasn't actually a bad idea. If anything, fighting could bring out the Boar, if it was still there. And if Felix antagonized it--no, that was stupid. If he did manage to summon it and prove himself right, he'd just wind up dead.

"Oh, Goddess, you're thinking about it. And you called _me_ insatiable."

With a snort, Felix offered Sylvain a hand. "Come on. Another round."

Sylvain smiled and reached up. The second his fingers touched Felix's, though, the smile turned downright mischievous. "I have a better idea."

With one hard tug, he knocked Felix off balance, sending him tumbling to the floor. Felix landed hard, not helped at all by partially landing on Sylvain's arm and shoulder.

"Sylvain!" He hissed.

He tried to jump up the moment he had his bearings, but Sylvain wrapped that arm around him, pinning his arms down and keeping him stuck on the floor. Though Felix struggled, it was to no avail. He was at a severe disadvantage--with the sheer surprise of it all, there was no way for him to get leverage. No way to get out.

Which meant he had to bear it until Sylvain let go.

"What are you doing?" He growled.

Sylvain hummed, closing his eyes. "Ensuring I get a break."

"Then take one without me." Felix glanced down. If it weren't for Sylvain's armor, he could possibly see kicking his shins to get out. But all that would do now was, at best, break his toe.

"Just take a breath." Sylvain said, voice soft. At ease. "It won't kill you."

Sure, lying there wouldn't. But being caught in a position like this certainly would. Felix couldn't even will the flush on his face to go away, regardless of how much he wished he could. He was pretty sure this was anger. He was pretty sure he was going to kill Sylvain the second he got free.

No, he was definitely going to stab Sylvain at least once for every minute they were stuck there.

Sylvain opened his eyes around the same time that Felix counted 5 stab wounds. He wasn't even looking at Felix, instead looking across the Training Ground. The redhead's smile was wide, though rather languid. Fake.

Felix scowled. "Syl--"

Sylvain chuckled. "Well _hello_ , Your Highness."

Felix froze.

"Am I . . ." Dimitri's voice was low, but in a way that felt like gravel grinding against skin, "interrupting?"

"Nah." Sylvain said. "Just us hanging out."

Sylvain was going to get stabbed 10 times at a minimum. Felix was sure he deserved more.

"You know, Your Highness," Sylvain raised an eyebrow, "I thought you had a meeting with the Professor and Gilbert this afternoon."

Felix could hear Dimitri clear his throat. At the very least, Felix was glad that he couldn't see Dimitri's face. "I had other business to attend to."

"Ah, yeah, always busy." Sylvain grinned. "Why is it you two always need me to get you to take a break?"

"Just our luck." Felix muttered, letting all his annoyance and anger seep into every syllable.

Felix didn't miss the slight way Sylvain's arm moved, giving him just enough space to elbow the bastard. And he did, _hard._ And the very moment Sylvain rolled onto his side, Felix to bounced up to his feet, glaring at his friend. He still avoided looking at Dimitri, even without the physical barrier.

Sylvain groaned on the ground. "Nice one."

Dimitri sighed. "Sylvain, Ashe was looking for you."

And then, like he'd never known an injury his whole life, Sylvain popped up, grin on his face. "Oh, I best be going then."

That wasn't . . . right. Felix's eyebrows scrunched, lips tight. Ashe complained about Sylvain all the time, displeased with how Sylvain's mannerisms were so at odds with anything remotely noble or chivalric. Likewise, Sylvain was never particularly keen on how much Ashe nagged at him. Nor was there really any situation where such unease could make him so eager. Unless . . .

Sylvain gave an enthusiastic parting wave. "See ya, Felix! Your Highness!"

. . . Oh. Felix paled.

Felix turned away, shaking his head as he dusted himself off. "I should go as well."

A firm hand on his shoulder stopped his retreat. "Actually, Felix . . . I wished to speak to you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Byleth is me, grinding out Dimitri supports at every possible mealtime.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still taking place around chapter 17

' _I wished to speak with you.'_ He'd said.

Well, Felix thought bitterly, that usually required _talking_ , didn't it? If not with something of substance, then at the very least the Boar should be spouting nonsense at him. Probably some reminder of his duties, or telling him he should be more amiable with his companions, or scolding him for neglecting this or that. Doing something to pretend that he was entirely normal.

And yet Dimitri just stood there, silent. His hand still sat heavy on Felix's shoulder.

Felix's fingertips tapped on the hilt of his sword at his side, the movement stiff and awkward. He wasn't going to entertain Dimitri with a glance. Standing there, still letting Dimitri touch him was all the acknowledgment he deserved. The Prince was lucky that Felix was humoring him with the back of his head, and not a door shut in his face.

He wasn't going to say anything first--Felix wasn't the one demanding they speak, after all.

He _wasn't_.

In the distance, Felix could hear the chatter of people walking past the Training Grounds. He could hear the hiss of steam from the nearby Sauna. But the only thing he heard from Dimitri was the soft sound of his breaths, hardly loud enough to hear over the heartbeat thrumming in Felix's ears.

That hand, that stupid hand, was so heavy. That was the only explanation for why Felix's knees felt unsteady, why he felt like he could stumble if he tried to walk away. It wasn't anxiety, it wasn't fear--just something that was clearly Dimitri's fault, as everything always was.

And _still_ the Boar was silent.

As per usual, Felix's impatience and irritation won against his stubbornness.

"Tch." He glanced over his shoulder, lip curling into a scowl.

It was bad enough that Dimitri wasn't talking to him. It was even worse that the man wasn't even _looking_ at him. Instead, he was gazing off to the side--not to the door, or to the weapon racks, but to a distinct emptiness. His gaze didn't seem empty like it had as the Boar, but it also wasn't entirely present, either.

And that only grated on Felix's nerves more. He didn't bother concealing his annoyance as he spoke. "If you have nothing to say, I'm leaving."

_That_ seemed to get Dimitri's attention. His gaze snapped to Felix, though his expression seemed more uneasy than surprised. But still his lips were pressed tightly together. Slowly, the tips of his gauntlets pressed into Felix's shoulder.

That was enough to spur Felix on. With a sneer, he shoved Dimitri's hand off his shoulder--it was dramatic, but anything less would be ineffective. "Go bother someone else." He hissed, taking as long of strides as he could toward the exit.

"The Professor said you hadn't given an answer." Dimitri said, voice soft. "To the battle's arrangements."

Felix slowed his stride, albeit only a little. "You're his messenger now?"

"No, but it is important."

Felix snorted. "I imagine you came to force a yes."

Dimitri paused,metal scratching as his fists clenched. When he spoke, it was restrained, timid. "No."

That made Felix stop mid-step. He turned on his heel, standing firm and glaring at the hulking beast still in the middle of the Training Grounds.

It could be a deception--no, Dimitri at his worst was many things, but never a liar. But . . . that didn't necessarily mean that he believed what he said. Even if his head hung low, expression more somber than it usually was.

Felix crossed his arms, his exit just in his peripherals. He could wait, if only a bit longer. "Then get on with it."

"I have no intention to force you to fight by my side." Dimitri said, glancing away. "You have already lost too much for me. I would not be selfish and ask more from you."

Those weren't the words of a beast. Felix's scowl slipped, lips parting slightly, that tension between his shoulders unfurling in a way that was nearly painful. He dug his fingertips into his arms to ground himself.

"I merely came to request that you give the Professor your answer soon." Dimitri continued, swallowing. His fists clenched harder at his sides. "He is skilled, but even he will need time to appropriately plan. Currently, I am certain he assumes you will say 'yes', even though I have done my best to assure him of the opposite and--"

"Spar with me, Boar." Felix said. He tried to convince himself that it was only to make Dimitri stop blabbering on like a fool.

"What?"

"Spar. With. Me."

Silence settled between them, laying across the Training Grounds. On one end, Felix glared, impatience clear in every line of his body. On the other was Dimitri, expression slowly falling, cloak swaying behind him as he shifted his weight in obvious discomfort.

"I," Dimitri shook his head, pity clear in his expression, "I should not. I have no desire to undo your progress."

Felix snorted. "It's a spar. Not a fight to the death." He stepped to the weapon rack, pulling a decent sword and lance from the set.

What was he even doing? If this was the worst possible situation, then Dimitri could easily snap Felix's blade in two mid-fight, slicing through Felix as easily with a training weapon as he could Areadbhar. But if the universe was actually kind for once, then . . .

He tossed the lance to Dimitri, who caught it with ease. "I assume you have the capacity to restrain yourself?"

Dimitri glanced down at the lance, then back up at Felix. "You're . . . asking me to go easy on you?" There was something strange in his expression--something that Felix didn't quite know how to read. A rise to a challenge, maybe, but with more intensity than even Felix had with such matters.

"Don't be a fool." Felix's voice was low with a mixture of anger and annoyance. "I have no intention of cutting you down. Just as I expect you to leave my head upon my shoulders."

"Hm." Dimitri spun the lance in his hand, eyes following the movement. Weighing it, judging it. Not surprising, since he'd probably never so much as looked at the Training Ground and its equipment since they were teens. The lance very nearly made the air snap at its sudden stop as he shifted into his stance. "Very well."

Felix didn't allow for a moment more of questioning, instead charging forward. He swung low, knowing height would give Dimitri more of an advantage. But all his blade met was the shaft of the lance, the strike leaving only the slightest notch in the wood. Dimitri responded in kind, nearly throwing Felix back with a wide swing, following up with a strike that Felix easily dodged.

Much to Felix's surprise, it was the same as when they were young. Felix was fast and agile; his attacks weren't quite potent enough to end a foe in a single blow, but he was often so quick that they never had a chance to defend themselves before he was already done with them. Dimitri was fairly slow in comparison. Sure, he was agile--often able to easily dodge and counter even the quickest axe master and most spells--but he was relatively sluggish. Then again, it would only take _one_ hit to ensure Dimitri's victory.

Which meant that, to an extent, Felix knew what he could do to get the answers he wanted. He knew that targeting Dimitri's blind spot could make a victory far too easy, especially if Dimitri was overly defensive of it. He knew if he kept his assault frequent, and dodged more than he blocked or parried, he could make the battle linger. And, he knew that, if he didn't let Dimitri finish or follow through on his strikes, it would increasingly frustrate the man.

As the spar continued, it was getting obvious, even as Felix's endurance was being pushed to its limit, that he was right. Dimitri kept advancing, lips curling when each attack was to no avail.

Granted, Felix had seen enough of Dimitri's battles recently to know that there was normally no polish to those powerful strikes, especially not compared to their youth. Even if Dimitri was back to his senses, there was no way to easily undo the harm that poor restraint and control could do to one's fighting style. It would probably bleed into his attacks until he died.

And yet, Felix noted with narrowed eyes at another of Dimitri's missed attacks, these were _too_ clean. The more he watched and egged the Boar on, the more he realized that it wasn't just that Dimitri's attacks were sickening levels of precise--it was that they were almost textbook-levels of precise. And, worse, they were _slow_.

Which meant Dimitri was holding back.

Felix scowled, brow furrowing. It could only mean a couple things, and all possibilities were positively infuriating.

Fine. If Dimitri was playing overly fair and safe, then Felix could do the exact opposite. After all, what good was training with Byleth if he didn't learn some of those skills, too? Knights and Dimitri's current face could be all honor; Felix's only goal was to win.

His lips quirked into a near smile just as Dimitri swung down. As it was about to hit his shoulder, he dodged just to the side, dropping to the ground. When Dimitri's lance slammed into the ground, Felix swept Dimitri's legs out from under him. The resulting _thunk_ resounded in the Grounds.

Panting, Felix straightened, smirking. Dimitri was just lying there, breathing heavy. Not moving. Not even as Felix closed the gap, wondering if he might have actually concussed the Boar.

It was only when Felix was in range that he realized that icy eye was fixed on him. He didn't have the time to even gather his senses before Dimitri's arm shot out, grabbing his ankle and practically throwing him off his feet.

Felix grunted as his back slammed to the floor, it quickly devolving into coughing gasps as he struggled to catch his breath. That damn injury--still sensitive in _only_ this way.He silently cursed himself, fingers seeking his sword while he tried to blink away the involuntary tears just at the corner of his eyes.

And then he froze, feeling the blade at his throat.

On instinct he tensed, eyes flicking to the lance. But that was only momentary, attention captured instead by the hulking figure lingering above him. A gauntleted hand pressed into the dirt by his head, knees on either side of Felix's hips. Just above him, a fist clenched hard around the lance shaft.

But Felix didn't linger on those details. Instead, he was caught by Dimitri's piercing gaze, feeling like it was the thing pinning him there, not the imminent threat of death. Dimitri's eyebrow was furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. Felix could feel his breath against his face, the heavy huffs shifting his bangs. And that eye--dark in a way not entirely unlike when they had first found him--focused on him.

He'd antagonized the Boar; it would have been foolish if he'd thought it would not come.

But . . . but there was something different about this. Felix's eyes flicked across Dimitri's face. It was intimidating, true, but it wasn't overtly dangerous. The whole fight, Dimitri had been in control, even when he was losing. Even now, when victory was entirely in hand, he was just . . . waiting. A beast, certainly, but a docile one.

Felix exhaled slowly. "I yield."

Dimitri hummed, eye half-lidded as he tilted his head slightly. But he didn't smile, didn't look like a man enjoying victory. Instead, he sighed, slowly withdrawing the lance.He shifted back to sit on his heels. "Are you hurt?" He asked, voice soft.

"Like you could hurt me with this." Felix snorted, dusting off his sleeves as he sat up. That was a bit of a lie: his back ached, but he was certain the pain would fade away much faster than his hurt pride.

"I'm . . .glad to hear it." Again, Dimitri looked away. "It's been some time since we were able to spar like this."

"Not for years." Felix muttered, standing and brushing off his coat. He glanced over at his blade--how did it get so far away? "Well, my sword seems to have survived this time."

Dimitri laughed, the sound clearly surprising even him.

Immediately, Felix's face heated up in a flush. "What." He growled, glaring at the still-laughing prince.

Dimitri tried to cover his mouth, but it did nothing to hide the sound. "M-my apologies." He said, taming himself to a chuckle. "It's just . . . very like you to be more worried about a blade than yourself."

Felix scowled. He should have been angry, furious even; he'd been underestimated, thoroughly beaten from his own carelessness, and _then_ mocked. Were it anyone else, he would be storming out the nearest door. He'd be treating it as another reason for why dealing with people was hardly ever worth the irritation.

But it was different with Dimitri. This was a laugh that reached his eye; the feeling behind it full even as chuckles rumbled out of his chest. It had seemed lost forever, and yet . . . here it was, just in front of him.

Chewing the inside of his cheek, Felix sighed. "I'll go speak to the Professor."

That broke the laughter immediately, Dimitri's head snapping up toward Felix. His eye was wide, lips curling into a frown.And then it seemed like he caught himself, falling into that forced smile--a lingering remnant of the Boar Prince's mask. "Oh. I'm sure he'll be glad for the notice--"

"I'm going to request he let us train together for a while." Felix snapped, crossing his arms. "If I'm going to guard you, I need to know how you fight when you're not out of your mind."

Dimitri blinked. "Felix--"

"Just for now, I'll fight alongside you." Felix took a step back toward the door. "I should . . . at least get you to Fhirdiad alive."

"I . . . understand." Dimitri said, voice soft. Slowly, a smile spread across his face--broader than any Felix had seen in the last few months. It was bright and sweet, and so much like the boy Felix had once been so fond of. "I look forward to it."

Again, Felix could hear his heartbeat thrumming in his ears.

That was . . . not a good sign.

  
  


Again and again, Felix clashed weapons with Dimitri. Sometimes it was more than once a day, depending on Felix's mood and the competing demands pressed upon the prince. It became habit, rhythmic. In a way, this pattern was a small comfort against the odds still stacked against them.

The more in sync they were, the more Felix thought they _actually_ had a chance.

But that was the most that Felix was allowing. He still avoided dining with Dimitri and the Professor whenever he could. And he _definitely_ didn't linger when the meetings in the War Room came to an end. It wasn't that he didn't want to deal with Dimitri . . . it was more that he didn't want to deal with the unfamiliar thoughts swimming in his head _because_ of Dimitri.

"You know, I have to ask." Sylvain yawned, hands behind his head as they walked out of the Dining Hall.

"You really don't." Felix glanced over at the redhead. His hand rested on his sword, keeping it balanced as he walked. "I'm sure the whole monastery would appreciate your silence."

Sylvain snorted a laugh. "Actually," his arm dropped on Felix's shoulder as he leaned in close, voice barely above a whisper, "I'm pretty sure _everyone's_ interested."

Felix scowled, trying to shove Sylvain back with a palm straight to his stupid face. He'd considered using his fist, but giving Sylvain a bloody nose was probably excessive. "Get off."

"Aw, embarrassed?" Sylvain teased, smirking against Felix's hand.

"Of what?" Felix hissed. "It's already hot enough here. I don't need you hanging on me."

"You know, you're gonna have to get used to it. I'm sure His Highness is pretty warmblooded, too."

Felix sputtered. "What does that have to do with--"

"You're blushing."

"What? I'm--" Felix caught himself. His face _was_ warm. That was unusual, but not particularly surprising, considering Sylvain was still so close that Felix could feel hot breath against his glove. "You're just too hot!"

"Like I haven't heard that one before." Sylvain grinned.

Felix growled. Maybe punching him was excessive, but there was a clear alternative. With no warning, he stomped his foot as hard as he could on Sylvain's. As the other yelped and jerked away, Felix didn't bother hiding his satisfied smirk. It lingered even as Sylvain fell against the nearest wall, rubbing his injury against the coolness of his shin armor.

Despite (or perhaps encouraged by) Sylvain's complaints, Felix kept walking. He was pretty sure he hadn't broken any bones this time, even if Sylvain did deserve it. It would be bad timing to hurt him like that now. Perhaps he'd have an opportunity after this next battle, if Sylvain still decided to act like an idiot.

"Hey, wait up!" Sylvain complained, his whine accompanied by the sounds of metal scraping against the stone wall, and uneven footsteps in pursuit.

Felix slowed his steps, but only slightly. "Stay off." Pointedly, he wrapped his hand around his blade's hilt.

"Oh, fine." Sylvain sighed. "My point is that I was wondering why you and His Highness are spending so much time together lately."

Felix frowned, grip loosening. "Training."

"Uh huh. Except, you know, last time you two actively willingly sparred was when you were, what? Twelve?"

"I told you before. The Professor wants me accompanying him in the next battle." Felix shrugged. "It's best to know who I'm protecting."

"Who?"

"The Boar. Don't play stupid."

"No, no. You said 'who'." Sylvain said, blinking down at Felix. A smile crept onto his lips. "Not 'what'. You _must_ be getting along."

Felix scowled at the ground. 'Getting along' was a little too broad to be accurate. True, he knew that Dimitri wouldn't kill him in sparring, and he knew that--ultimately--Dimitri's intentions were good. He really did want to do right by his people, and Felix could respect that. And, for the most part, he was more genuine in his emotions, which meant that the mask of their youth hadn't returned.

And, true, Dimitri was more open with each day. He was genuinely curious about how Fraldarius was doing, when Felix had learned tricks that even Dimitri couldn't win against, and even what Felix thought of their state of affairs. It was satisfying that, like their fathers before them, Dimitri trusted Felix's opinion.

But that didn't mean they were friends. Even now, Felix had to be wary. It was that innate sense still lingering in his bones, forcing him to be on edge when they fought or spoke. His instincts actively clashed with his judgment, forcing his heart to race and his stomach to churn--even if logically it made no sense. It was like he was afraid Dimitri might reach out and . . . and he wasn't really sure what he was expecting.

"I trust him." He said honestly. "That doesn't mean we're close."

Sylvain sighed, shaking his head. "Uh huh. Sure."

Felix stopped, turning on the taller man. This whole conversation was infuriating. It was even more so that the stupid smile was still on Sylvain's face. "And what is that supposed to--"

Sylvain's smile widened as he looked down the hall. "Maybe you should ask His Highness."

Felix's gaze followed Sylvain's. Down the way, just in front of the Training Ground doors, stood Dimitri. His arms were crossed as he stared down at the ground, expression downcast. He didn't seem entirely lost in thought, but whatever was running through his mind clearly displeased him. Idly, Felix had to wonder if he could still hear those ghosts of his.

"Hey, Your Highness!" Sylvain grinned, one arm offering a lazy wave and the other hooking around Felix's shoulders again. He grunted as Felix swiftly elbowed him in the stomach. "Ugh . . . come to kidnap Felix?"

Dimitri blinked, head tilting slightly as his gaze slid over. His lips pressed together, eyes narrowing. "Kidnap?" He shook his head. "I just . . . was going to ask if he was interested in sparring today."

"Same difference." Sylvain laughed.

"I'm right _here_." Felix growled. He ducked from under Sylvain's arm. One fool at a time was enough; two was positively insufferable. He immediately headed toward the door. "You two can do what you want. I'm going to train."

It shouldn't have surprised him to hear Dimitri's steps follow close behind. "Allow me to join you."

  
  


Felix panted, glaring across the Training Ground at Dimitri. The other's lance shaft was grinding into the dirtied stone, digging in more as he pressed his weight against it. He looked just about as unsteady as Felix felt; the hour of combat had left both worn and drained. And yet there still was no clear winner.

But, if the spar continued, they could make a foolish mistake. Someone _would_ get hurt. And it was far too close to their next battle to even consider allowing that risk.

"It seems," Felix said through gritted teeth, "we're at a draw."

Dimitri let out a slow and heavy exhale, a small smile on his face. He straightened, glancing down at a lance now slightly bent. "I agree. Any longer, and I fear I would have collapsed."

Felix snorted, shaking his head as he returned his sword to the weapons rack. "Perhaps I should have gone a bit longer, then." He certainly wouldn't acknowledge that his knees felt like they might give out at any moment. And definitely not to Dimitri.

"I'm glad you didn't." Dimitri chuckled. "You've become quite the formidable swordsman. I certainly would have lost."

Felix gave a small hum in response, glancing down at the weapons.

It was always awkward after battle, regardless of who won. Dimitri always lingered, always waiting for Felix to leave first. And Felix, well, he was still awful at normal conversation--and trying to manage that with Dimitri was a whole added level of difficulty.

He could hear the click of metal, and turned to see Dimitri seated at the step lining the outside border of the Grounds. The man ran a hand through his hair, sweat keeping much of it slicked back. A few strands escaped the hold and framed his face, shimmering like the long lashes that brushed against his cheeks as he caught his breath.

Like this, he looked much like the man Felix used to imagine he'd grow into. He looked very nearly like a proper king. Even though he was a complete mess.

"Felix?" As Dimitri glanced over at him, Felix looked away. "Can I ask you something?"

So many questions today. Knowing Dimitri, it was also probably something foolish. Felix scowled. "You just did."

Dimitri chuckled, the noise rather weak and awkward. "Oh, I suppose you're right."

With a huff, Felix took the open spot next to him. It was either that or remain standing, and he was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to stay on his feet much longer."Just get on with it."

"Oh! Well . . . hm." Dimitri tapped his chin with his knuckle, staring down at the ground like his answer would be written there. "I . . . was curious."

Felix raised an eyebrow.

Dimitri looked away. "You and Sylvain seem . . . close lately."

Well, that wasn't untrue.They were closer than they'd ever been. "Is that a problem?"

"Well . . . it's . . . forget it."

"Just spit it out, Boar."

"It's . . ." Dimitri's exhale was painfully slow. "There are some rumors circulating that you two are . . . together."

"Together?" Felix frowned. "He avoids training, so we're not together that often."

"No, I mean . . . in a relationship. An . . . intimate one."

"W-what?!" Immediately, heat rose to Felix's face as he stammered over himself. A relationship with Sylvain? Sylvain of all people?

Sure, they were close friends, but they weren't _that_ kind of close. Sylvain's touchiness wasn't even remotely tolerable, let alone the way he flirted with anything that moved. He was absolutely certain that neither of them fancied such a stupid thing in the least. It was a ridiculous notion, absurd in every imaginable way.

He rubbed at his face, trying to will the reaction away. What kind of fool would believe that, anyway? Well, there were a few knights who did nothing but gossip in their free time. And it was possible that the other Lions would mishear or misunderstand, perhaps thinking Dimitri--being their closest friend at one point--would know the truth of the matter. And Dimitri--fool that he was--would just take it as fact.

"I-it truly isn't an issue." Dimitri stammered out. "I-I just wanted to be sure, and I'm very aware that rumors aren't always true, but--"

"Dimitri."

"--but it would also be incompetent to ignore such a matter. Not that it's a matter, per se, but the Professor should be informed to ensure it is . . . ah . . . accounted for on the battlefield. I'm sure that--"

_"Dimitri!_ " Felix's arm shot out, fingers curling into the fur collar and yanking Dimitri's face close to his own. "I am _not_ with Sylvain."

Dimitri blinked, but didn't pull away.

Felix's lip curled into a snarl--why did this make him so _mad_? "That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard--even from _your_ mouth."

"Well, you two do dine together often." Dimitri responded sheepishly, smile wry. This close, Felix could tell that his cheeks were just slightly pink, though it was likely the lingering effects of exertion. "And do many other things together as well. So--"

"If that's your only reasoning," Felix sneered, "I'm dating the Professor, and Ashe, and Annette. Probably even Dedue. Don't be a fool."

"To be fair," Dimitri muttered, glancing away, "they lack the history you and Sylvain share--"

"By that logic, I could be with _you_."

"Oh, I suppose." Dimitri huffed a small laugh, head shaking slightly. "Would that be such a bad thing?" Immediately, all color drained from his face and his gaze snapped to Felix. "Please don't answer that."

Felix snorted, still feeling residual heat on his cheeks as he released his grip on Dimitri's cloak. This was stupid--an inane hypothetical that would go nowhere. "It doesn't matter." He said, standing and dusting off his coat.

It didn't matter.

"It's getting late." Felix muttered, already walking to the door. "I'm going back to my room."

  
  


Felix glared at the ceiling. He had been awake so long that his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, making it easy to pick out shapes in the stone. But it was pointless; sleep still eluded him. It was like it was just sitting off in the distance, openly mocking him.

And in the sleepless silence, Dimitri's words echoed in his head.

_'Would that be such a bad thing?'_

Of course it was. The answer was, without a doubt, absolutely, yes. There were a hundred reasons why--reasons Felix had repeated in his mind a dozen times just to get those thoughts to leave him alone. All to no avail.

There were practical reasons, of course. It was a very dumb idea to be in love in the middle of a war; death was constant and unpredictable. It was even worse to be in love with a king; if death didn't claim one of them, then eventually heirs would be necessary. Felix, well . . . clearly he lacked the parts. Which meant that there would be a queen, and ultimately a competition for affection. That was, if the king in question didn't just isolate his focus to his queen.

Logistically, it wasn't like the other nobles would _ever_ accept such a union--no doubt they would see it as Felix grasping for power. It would create tumult in the Kingdom, something they couldn't afford after such a lengthy war. It could ruin everything they fought for.

And, besides the practical, there were even more reasons why such a thing was absolutely stupid. It was foolish to so much as imagine them acting like the standard mushy couple--walking hand in hand, Dimitri leaning close so Felix could whisper in his ear, only for Dimitri to turn his head and--

No.

Felix groaned, rolling over and pressing his face into his pillow. He'd had such fantasies like this before, back when they were younger. Before the rebellion, when Felix foolishly thought he'd brought his friend back from the horrors Duscur had inflicted on the both of them.

Felix had thought the rebellion had destroyed that. That the image of his Prince covered in blood had shattered and buried those thoughts completely. For them to be back now was . . . horrifying.

Because it was obvious. Even if Felix entertained the thought, it was impossible. If Dimitri was in his right mind, or even partially in his right mind, _and_ he was interested in pursuing a relationship in war, then there was no way he'd pick Felix. He'd never consider the man who had constantly berated him, who could never be straightforward with his thoughts and feelings. He would want someone soft and kind in a way that Felix could never be.

Which meant he would pick someone like Annette or Mercedes. Or, if he was interested in men, then he would surely pick the only man who had succeeded in pulling him from the darkness. Felix was probably at the very bottom of the list, only feasible if everyone in the army had fallen. And maybe not even then.

With a huff, he sat up. There was no point in pretending that he would sleep tonight. And there was nothing to gain from just lying in bed.

He glanced out the window. The edges of the panes were fogged, a result of too warm of days clashing with the chill of the night. In the distance, the moon was starting to fall beneath the horizon. A slight breeze pulled at the trees in the distance, leaves rustling.

Felix sighed as he rose from his spot, pulling his clothing from his dresser and dressing himself. It was unlikely that this would help him much, but the layers were necessary against the cold. His eyes flicked to his swords sitting on his desk; it was possible to leave them behind, but that would have required him to willingly abandon the one stable comfort in his life.

His wandering led him to the yard before their old classrooms. Each room had fallen to chaos, abandoned entirely by the Monastery and their current objectives. It made sense, in a way; it wasn't as if this place was a learning institution any longer. And probably wouldn't be for a very long time. But it did make him uneasy to see the banners torn to shreds and littered on the floor--even that of the Blue Lions. He knew, for many, it was a point of damaged nostalgia. For him, though, the room was just a lingering symbol of regret. Of mistakes and foolishness that he could never take back.

Not wanting to dwell long, he continued on his way. His feet led him to the Training Grounds, but even _he_ knew it was a poor idea to waste away the time with training. Doing so would only hinder him the next day, making him sluggish and weak far beyond the capacity of sleep deprivation. And there was still the chance that Byleth would change his mind if he thought Felix was unwell again.

So, for now, he moved on. He gave very little mind to the things he passed--after being here so long, so little mattered anymore. It was just a refuge--a place to rest until their next battle. And yet when he came to the long bridge leading up to the Cathedral, his footsteps quickly came to a halt.

His hesitation was foolish, he knew that. And yet still he lingered.

Logically, he knew Dimitri was no longer the Boar, and as such he hadn't been confining himself to the Cathedral. From what Felix heard, he'd stopped prowling it entirely since the battle at Gronder. Even now, it was fairly certain that Dimitri was in his own bed, sleeping peacefully.

But Felix also hadn't come here since . . . since his last confrontation with Dimitri in that place. Absentmindedly, he rubbed his knuckles over his cheek. The scratches had healed ages ago--but still the memory was fresh in his mind.

Scowling to himself, he made his feet cooperate, walking across the long bridge. The wind blustered against him, unhindered by walls that protected the rest of the monastery. It only quickened his pace, pushing him to force the large doors of the cathedral open as quickly as he could. He winced at the creak that echoed in the large room.

The Cathedral was nicer now, especially with the latest efforts of the others. Most of the rubble was cleaned up, the building looking far more its normal self than it had months ago. The pews had all been replaced, and the flooring had been returned to a decent polish. Most of the stained glass had been cleaned up, as were some of the minor statues. Some pillars still showed noticeable damage that would probably require full replacement to fix. And, in the distance, the statue of Saint Seiros was still little more than rubble. Much had been done, but it was obvious that there was far more left to do.

He sighed, falling into one of the pews. He could feasibly help clean the area up--pick up some of the rubble and discard it elsewhere. But that would require the willing faith of a religious man, which Felix certainly was not. How could he be, when the Goddess clearly had never bothered looking back upon them?

So instead he decided to sit there, watching as his breath came out in icy puffs. Each breath swirled into the last, very nearly fading away before he exhaled again. It felt like ice was sitting on the back of his throat, chilling his tongue in a way that made his teeth ache. An involuntary shudder made him pull his coat tighter, but even that seemed to be of little help at all.

He didn't know how long he sat in that pew, only that the cold began to seep into his fingertips, making their movements sluggish and unreliable. But it was quiet. Peaceful in a way that seemed impossible in the constant clamor of the day.

"May I join you?"

Felix glanced up, frowning at that familiar mess of blond hair. He shrugged. "I can't stop you."

Dimitri smiled sweetly, gentling setting himself into the spot next to Felix. "It's unlike you to struggle sleeping."

"Hm, perhaps you're rubbing off on me."

Dimitri chuckled. "I certainly hope not."

Felix smiled, even though it was slight.

Silence rested between them, though it wasn't uneasy like it had been during the day. It gave Felix the opportunity to glance over at the prince out of the corner of his eye. Even this close, Dimitri still didn't look as sleep-deprived as he had once been. Sure, there were still bags under his eyes, but they weren't particularly prominent. And they were nothing like they had been when he was the Boar. At the very least, they weren't much different than those of others in the army.

Dimitri, on his part, didn't seem to notice Felix's observations. Instead, his lips were pressed firmly together, gaze focused on the rubble before them. He sat incredibly straight, like he thought Felix cared even remotely about maintaining his manners and image when it was just them. Dimitri pulled his cloak closer around himself, even though he didn't look cold in the slightest.

Felix sighed, noting how hard Dimitri's fingers clenched into the fabric. "Are the nightmares still that bad?" He asked, glancing away.

He'd expected those nightmares to be constant when he was the Boar. Then again, in that state it just made sense to assume _everything_ was the worst it could possibly be. He'd hoped that, when Dimitri came back to normal, then the potency of his nightmares would ease as well.

Dimitri stiffened, frown firm. "I . . . don't imagine they will go away soon."

"It's a shame." Felix muttered. "It's not like when we were kids. I could just nudge you when you started fidgeting in your sleep. Seemed to handle it fine." He froze, biting his tongue so hard he could taste copper. Mentally, he cursed his lack of sleep-- _that_ was the problem, obviously. He turned his head away, trying to hide the flush crawling up the back of his neck. "Not that I got any sleep those nights."

Dimitri sighed, weight shifting. "I always appreciated what you did for me. I wish . . . I wish I had shown it more."

Felix opened his mouth for a retort, only to be cut off by Dimitri's cape being draped over his shoulders. His snipe immediately turned into a sneer. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!" He hissed.

Dimitri didn't even flinch. "I assumed you were cold. You were shivering so much you were shaking the pew."

Felix's mind could only come up with a snort in reply. He glared at the former statue of Seiros, like all of this was _her_ fault.

But he couldn't exactly deny that it was warm. The man just radiated heat, even more so without his armor keeping it contained. And of course Dimitri hadn't felt the cold or threat in going about unarmed. He could probably step into the middle of the snow and be fine.

Felix, on the other hand, had always run cold. When he was young, he had practically clung to Dimitri, fingers wrapped around the other's arm just because he needed _something_ to make the cold stop hurting. So often he had found himself in the other's bed, just because it was the only comfortable place in the whole castle.

It was soothing, just soaking in Dimitri's warmth. And, his mind harshly reminded him, so unlike the last time the two of them had been here together--pressed hard against unforgiving armor, a frigid gauntlet clamped over his mouth. The thought made him shudder.

"Oh," Dimitri shifted beside him, _of course_ noticing, "are you still cold? I can--"

"Do you recall the last time we were here?" Felix muttered. He slowly brought his gaze up to Dimitri's--not surprised at all to find the other already staring down at him. There was his answer.

"O-oh." Dimitri rubbed the back of his neck, smile lopsided. "It . . . must have been back in the Academy days. The Professor certainly was cold, wasn't he? Constantly enlisting us in the choir."

Felix snorted. A bad liar back then, a horrendous one now. "Don't play dumb."

Dimitri looked away. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're referring to."

"Fine." Felix stood, brushing the cloak off his shoulders. The cold air slammed against him, feeling like needles digging into his skin, but he wasn't going to surrender to that. He wasn't going to have that stupid memory swirling in his head while Dimitri pretended that it didn't exist. "We're done here."

"Felix." Dimitri's arm shot out, large hand wrapping around Felix's wrist. No armor--but _always_ those stupid gauntlets. Even through his glove, Felix could feel the chill of metal against him--frigid from the night sky. Felix immediately tensed, body coiling like he was either about to draw his sword or run. Or both.

No. No he had to focus. Dimitri's grip was solid, but not firm. He didn't squeeze, didn't do anything to hold Felix there. He was a presence, but not a force. Felix exhaled slowly to calm himself.

He let his mind shift from alarm to annoyance, glaring down at Dimitri. But even that very nearly dissipated by the despondency in Dimitri's expression. To snap his arm away now would inevitably break whatever it was that had been growing between them in the recent weeks. And Felix couldn't quite bring himself to that point, as much as he wanted to.

Dimitri looked down, gaze falling on where he held Felix's arm. "I . . . don't remember many things, but . . . I do remember that night."

Felix scowled. "Care to explain yourself?"

". . . no."

"Then release me."

"Wait . . . please."

"Fine, but . . . I'd like to avoid a repeat of last time."

Dimitri sighed, nodding almost imperceptibly. Gently, he pulled Felix back to the place beside him. As he brought his hand back to his own lap, he very pointedly looked at anything but Felix. "I didn't lie when I said I remember very little of the last few months. Most of it is . . . blurred together."

Felix stared at him. Frankly, he figured as much. But significant things, well, those should have stuck. Those he should still remember and . . . at least feel a little remorseful about.

Dimitri wrung his hands, metal scratching against metal. "Being here was . . . like an obstacle in the way of my next battle, in the way of letting the dead finally lay at rest."

Felix snorted.

"Even so . . . I remember you. Every day, you stood there," Dimitri grimaced, head tilting toward a pillar near where they sat, "watching. I knew you didn't think I saw you there and, well, honestly I didn't wish to acknowledge it. I wasn't certain if you were waiting for the chance to kill me or . . . or looking out for me."

There was a pregnant pause, but Felix made no move to fill the void.

Dimitri sighed, just the barest trace of a smile on his lips. "After a while, I thought you might have been one of my ghosts. Just waiting for the right chance to . . ." He rubbed his face. "We'd parted on bad terms. I'd wondered if . . . if perhaps you had died in that time, and it was only my mind trying to deceive me."

"You thought I was a ghost." Felix muttered.

"I feared it."

"We _fought_ together, Dimitri."

Dimitri glanced over at him, expression wry.

Felix grimaced. It probably shouldn't have surprised him that Dimitri's ghosts could have been as solid in his vision as any other person. Or, perhaps, that the twisted machinations of his mind had warped everything around him. Felix included.

"I was . . ." Dimitri sighed, "I had restrained myself for the most part, in the chance you were real. I had no intention of fighting you. But that night . . . I . . . suppose I lost control."

"You _suppose_." Felix muttered.

"You know," Dimitri sighed, looking down at his hand, "it was good, feeling your breath. Knowing that you still lived . . . that you had made it this far."

"Funny way of showing it."

"I know. I was a fool and scared you away."

"Y-you," Felix flushed, "I wasn't scared."

The laugh out of Dimitri was both absolutely infuriating and positively delightful. "Call it what you will." His gaze was fond, unwavering even as Felix sputtered in frustration. "We don't have to pretend with each other. I see you as well as you see me."

That was the problem, though. He'd always been able to see through Dimitri--to see what truly frustrated him, or made him happy, or intrigued him. Even when he had that mask, Felix could see what he was truly like.

But lately it was different. Dimitri had been unpredictable as the Boar. And now that he was normal, it was like finding his favorite book in another language--he knew the story in principle, but he couldn't actually _read_ it.

And yet Dimitri could see right through him. That was mortifying.

"It was different before." Dimitri said, pulling Felix from his thoughts. "After Duscur . . . you changed. I wasn't entirely sure I knew who you were."

"Says the man who wore a mask for four years." Felix snorted.

"Fair enough." Dimitri sighed. "But . . . you were once so open. Always smiling, always telling me what you really thought. Crying whenever you'd become overwhelmed. And . . . after Duscur . . ."

"I grew up." Felix scowled.

"No, you changed. Before this last month, I can hardly remember the last time you smiled, or laughed. You were always . . . angry. And when you spoke, it never seemed to match what you were actually trying to say." Dimitri chuckled weakly. "Not so different from my mask, if you think about it."

"Don't compare us." Felix snorted. "I'm not pretending to be someone I'm not."

Dimitri sighed, shaking his head. "Sometimes . . . I wonder if I still am."

Felix twitched. "What do you mean?"

"I still . . . the Boar still is there, you know. Always right below the surface. Always merely one bad choice from returning."

Felix swallowed. Of course it was. It would have been foolish to think that it would be gone entirely. But Dimitri admitting it was, admittedly, alarming. It was like he'd already given up.

"I don't . . . I've never wanted to . . . to lose people to the Boar. Don't get me wrong, I will always bear the sins I earned when I let it run rampant, but I . . . don't want it to take over again." Dimitri swallowed, hands clenched into tight fists. Even in the limited light, he was clearly pale.

Felix exhaled slowly. This was . . . his chance. His chance to make things right. "That's what you have me for."

Dimitri didn't even look over, his frown deepening.

"I'm Duke Fraldarius now." Felix said, looking down at his hands. At the signet sitting on his finger. "And I am the Shield. The Shield of the King, and Shield of Faerghus' people. If you'll allow it."

Dimitri blinked, expression somewhat blank as his still stared down at his hands. " . . . Of course."

Felix smiled, the expression smug. "Then you don't need to fear the Boar. I will shield the people--even from its king, if need be."

Slowly, Dimitri's gaze met Felix's. A smile formed on his lips, even though it was fragile. "I'll hold you to that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made it long to make up for that long cliffhanger last time (and because I said I was gonna fit this in 10 chapters oops)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place around chapter 18. took some liberties with this chapter. Took a lot of liberties, actually

There was always the taste of anxiety before a battle. So often, it was quickly replaced by the thrill of adrenaline. But _this_ was different. Felix was looking down at the capital of his homeland. The land that had been the captive of the Empire, now just within their reach to save. But . . . if they failed, then it was all over. There would be no recovering from this.

His exhale was shaky, fist clenching hard around the hilt of his blade to ground himself.

Admittedly, their chances were pretty good. Riots had broken in the streets upon the army's arrival. Even from here, Felix could find the signs of battle on the other end of the capital—smoke, fire, and raucous noise. Such movement had clearly divided Cornelia's little army, leaving Fhirdiad vulnerable to outside forces. This was the best chance they were ever going to have.

Footsteps came up beside him; he didn't have to look to know that it was Dimitri. He glanced over at the other, curious to see what it was like for a prince to return home.

And yet Dimitri's expression was somber. His eye moved slowly over the destruction of the town, as if each instance was personally his fault. Like he was to blame for the city that no longer flourished, for the people who suffered from hunger, anger, and exhaustion.

Well, even Felix had to admit that it _was_ , sort of. Dimitri _had_ left Faerghus to Cornelia's whim. He had vanished into the wilderness, instead of turning to his most loyal men. For five years, he had taken out his acts of vengeance in small numbers; none of those efforts would have alleviated Faerghus' suffering as quickly as their Prince's return.

But that didn't mean that _everything_ was Dimitri's fault. Or that he wouldn't be welcomed by the people who desperately needed to be saved.

Dimitri sighed. "I haven't been here for so long . . ."

Felix didn't miss the wince, nor the pain in his expression. He looked back to the city. "Last time I was here," he adjusted his gloves, "I had to act like a fugitive. Hide in our old spots. No one even knew you were—"

Felix's jaw clenched, old emotions hitting him much harder than he had expected. Back then, the city had been ignorant of Dimitri's fate. Cornelia had the country dance to her whim, like a puppet—eagerly waiting to cut the strings. She had the people convinced that Dimitri was still among them, working to protect his people from the incoming Empire. And Felix . . . Felix had been grasping desperately for an answer.

"Felix," Dimitri glanced down at him, expression unreadable, "did you look for me?"

Back then, Felix had absolutely rejected the obvious answer that Dimitri was dead. It had been a foolish move, all things considered. But he'd been _right_. Somehow, that wasn't satisfying. Maybe because he had lost years in his vain search, and he wasn't the one who found their prince in the end.

Felix snorted, looking away on instinct as he ran a hand through his bangs. It would at least give him time to tame the heat on his face. "She didn't give us a body. So I— _we_ were going to get answers, one way or another."

That was the thing, Felix realized, that annoyed him the most. If Cornelia had delivered Dimitri's body to their doorstep, maybe House Fraldarius would have given up. Maybe Felix would have given up. Maybe he would have become another pawn of the Empire.

And that thought made him loathe that wretched woman more.

"I see." Dimitri's frowned deepened. "And that whole time, I--"

"It was a bloody time for both of us. Simple as that." Felix offered the slightest of smiles, tapping his knuckles against Dimitri's armor. "Just don't die on me this time."

Dimitri's expression shifted, expression almost wry, but he said nothing.

Felix looked back the way they came. Not far, he could see the others start to gather around Byleth, waiting for their instructions. He moved to rejoin them. "Come on. Looks like they're waiting on the words of their future king. Try not to disappoint them."

  
  


Felix hadn't expected the fight to be easy. Cornelia was a powerful mage, and behind her was the Empire's massive army. It was _always_ going to be a challenge. But he also hadn't anticipated giant machines. Their unexpected interference ground the Kingdom's advance to a snail's pace.

The machines' strikes were brutal. Likewise, it was clear that no physical attacks were doing much of anything. Dimitri's forces fought against them in large numbers at first—one of Dedue's axes broke just on contact, and Ashe's arrow splintered into shreds. Even Dimitri—with the Blaiddyd strength behind him—could manage only passing damage.

Its only weakness was revealed when Felix, desperate to keep Dimitri from being sliced in two, shot Thoron at its arm joint—and the arm fell off.

From there, their path was clear. The army split to divide and conquer. Dimitri and Felix charged ahead, cutting down any soldier foolish enough to think they had a chance. Together, they dismantled the mechanical abominations—Dimitri blocking any attack that swung too close, and Felix dissolving the armor with his magic. It wasn't a dynamic they were accustomed to, and yet—together—they fell into it easily.

Which meant that, by the time they got to Cornelia, their breathing may have been labored, but they were still ready to cut her down.

And, by the way her lip twitched, she knew it too. "My, it's been a long time, hasn't it, Your Highness?" She smiled, but there was something chilling behind it. It was as sharp and as fierce as any spell, even as she cooed: "You've grown awfully strong."

Dimitri sneered, the expression cold and harsh like the Boar's had once been. "How shameless."

Cornelia only smiled.

"I bet," Dimitri's gaze darkened, shoulders stiffening and eye turning icy in nature, "it was you who killed my uncle and set me up. Am I right?"

Cornelia's laugh echoed across the battlefield, shrill and painful to hear, "Hah! Too true! I'd already forgotten all about that loveliness."

Dimitri snarled. "I'll kill you, you monster!" He lunged forward, ignorant to Cornelia's hands glowing crimson, the air around them crackling with heat.

With a single breath, Felix leapt in front of him. His fingers curled into Dimitri's breastplate, yanking the man down before him as his back absorbed the magic of that woman's spell. He gasped; she was a better mage than he, the sheer disparity between them far too clear. His skin felt like it was boiling. But, against a Ragnarok spell, it was a miracle they were still standing. He had to be grateful for the Mortal Savant's armor.

"What are you _doing_?" Dimitri's words were barely a step above a growl, animalistic in a way that made Felix tremble. The hulking beast tried to jump up from his knees, but Felix's weight was preventing it for now—to Dimitri's clearly growing anger. "She _must_ pay for what she's done!"

Felix glanced over his shoulder. Dimitri's battalion had her distracted, but surely it was only temporary. The longer it took to get Dimitri to his senses, the more who would die.

"She _will_." He hissed, glaring at his prince. "If you don't focus, we'll _both_ die!"

Dimitri's gaze darkened, but he didn't move.

In the reflection of his eye, Felix saw the flash of yellow. He turned, barely deflecting a Thoron spell in time. He winced at the throbbing in his hand, trying to ignore it by drawing his blade. He glared at the malicious woman across from him as she cackled; he had less time than he thought.

"If you could stand my taunts for years," Felix panted, stance shifting slightly as he faced the mage, "you had best ignore hers!"

He charged to attack her, hoping his words were enough. Hoping _he_ had been enough. But . . . if it hadn't, then he needed to take care of her quickly. If Dimitri survived, then that was all that mattered. Everything else was secondary, unimportant.

She dodged around one of his strikes, forcing him on the defensive with another spell. That was the one frustrating part of this class, he realized—the armor made him slow. Unrestrained, and with her full focus, Cornelia could dodge him easily. And he was barely fast enough to deflect her spells.

He'd never been particularly honest with his chances in battle, but even he could acknowledge that—against Cornelia alone—he was a dead man.

The familiar glow of Areadbar slid into his periphery, slashing through an aggressive fire spell. Felix glanced up—he didn't have the time to linger—long enough to catch Dimitri's expression. He recognized that smile.

Felix smirked; _now_ they had a proper chance. And, by the look in the witch's face, she knew that too.

Where she flung her spells, Felix deflected them. Where her reinforcements came with the hope of easy annihilation, Dimitri tore them to shreds. In the recent weeks, it was clear that they worked well together. _Now_ , it was a perfect unspoken synchronicity.

Despite Cornelia's every attempt to drive them back, she was cornered, forced to her knees before the rightful king.

Felix had always known her as a proud woman, so it didn't surprise him that she spouted spiteful nonsense with her last rasping deaths. Foolishness about the old queen. About Duscur. About Dimitri.

And Dimitri, the fool, was weak to it. Falling—no, plummeting—into her trap. Felix's lip curled.

"Poor little prince." Cornelia taunted. "Unloved by the only mother he ever knew... How pitiful."

"How dare you!" Dimitri snarled.

She laughed. "There's nothing left for—"

Felix, without a word, cut her down. It was stupid to think that she'd provide anything of use. It was even more foolish to leave her as anything but a corpse. He huffed, flicking her blood off his blade before sheathing it.

"Felix," Dimitri's tone was unhinged, nearly feral, "what have you done?"

Felix glanced back over his shoulder, too drained to be afraid or even angry. It was his job, after all, to protect his King. "What use is a traitor's provocation toward a king?" He snorted. "You need to focus on what you'll do next. Not whatever nonsense she conjured in the past."

Dimitri blinked, that painfully-familiar haze fading. He opened his mouth, but didn't have the opportunity to speak.

"Come, Your Highness." Gilbert's voice was an intrusion, but Felix found himself grateful for it. At the very least, Gilbert could be the encouragement that Felix could never manage. "You still have some responsibilities that must be carried out. Your people have been patiently awaiting your return."

Dimitri stood there, mouth slightly agape. He glanced back at Felix—expression not unlike the boy he knew so long ago, startled when a girl had asked him to dance. Just begging for Felix to save him.

Felix smiled, nodding toward the Professor and Gilbert. "Get going, Your Majesty."

  
  


There was a celebration, because _of course_ there was a celebration. Despite the tired army, the limited resources, the castle bordering on disrepair because of Cornelia's spiteful misuse, there just _had_ to be a party of some sort.

To an extent, Felix could understand. The people were celebrating in the streets regardless, so it would seem odd for the castle to remain somber. The army had worked hard, so it made sense to give them some reprieve before they were forced to fight for their lives against Edelgard. The nobles wanted to snivel their way into Dimitri's good graces, so of course a celebration would be a good way to grovel without getting their heads lopped off.

It made sense; but that didn't mean he had to enjoy it.

For all intents and purposes, he had done his duty. He had listened to the pathetic excuses of the other nobles; he mostly avoided rolling his eyes at their worthless excuses for why they betrayed their country. It was easy to tell that Dimitri wanted to forgive them—he'd been given a second chance, so why shouldn't they? It was all well and good, Felix reasoned, but at the very least it could wait until _after_ the war had been won.

As the night went on, Felix found that he couldn't stay long at Dimitri's side. It was clear enough that his presence was unwelcome when people wanted to hear the sentiments of their king. And it was even more clear when Byleth and Gilbert came around that Felix was not meant to hear their plans.

Which was fine for him. It was easier to linger at the edges of the room. To watch as Sylvain danced with any girl who asked, as Ingrid happily munched on her latest plateful of meat as she spoke to other Pegasus Knights, as Mercedes and Annette giggled and gossiped with their mouths full of cupcakes, as Ashe happily entertained the children dragged here by their parents, as Dedue watched over Dimitri with a small smile on his face. For now, they could be happy. Could pretend to be as carefree as they should have been, had they never been dragged into war.

In the same way, Felix wasn't allowed that peace. He was, after all, Duke Fraldarius. Nobles and suitors flocked to him when they thought they had a worse chance appealing to Dimitri. They tittered on, trying to slide into his good graces. A few were even so bold as to even ask a dance from him. At first, Felix entertained himself by annihilating their expectations—it was very nearly a game to see how few words he could manage before their hopes shattered upon the floor.

Admittedly, it wasn't entirely miserable for him. He took the snacks that Ingrid offered him, accepted the role of Ashe's impromptu knight when the stories called for it, and even took a minor part in Mercedes' and Annette's conversation when it regarded cats. Once—only once—he danced with Sylvain to avoid a dowager who absolutely would _not_ leave him be.

But Felix's patience could only last so long.

The moment he could escape without notice, he slid out of the ballroom. He'd done his duty; there was no reason to expect more of him.

As a result, he found himself wandering through the castle. Even damaged as they were, the halls made him nostalgic. There were the rooms he and Dimitri had once played in, either hiding from Sylvain and Ingrid in play or from their fathers to avoid a scolding. There was the window he and Dimitri used to peek out of to watch Glenn in the Training Grounds, back when they were too young to properly wield a sword. There was the study where they'd watch their fathers hunched over maps, speaking on policies that neither of the boys were old enough to understand.

He stepped into Dimitri's old bedroom, likely unused since the Regent's murder. At one time, they'd both huddled in Dimitri's bed, when Felix couldn't stand the cold, or tolerate being alone, or . . . really, he'd do it without any excuse at all. When they were older, they were propped up against each other, scouring their fathers' books, charting out the best way to find weapons of Zoltan. And, past that time, both studied at Dimitri's desk, finding comfort in each other's presence when silence and reality was unbearable alone.

He glanced over at the desk, a glimmer catching his attention. There, among papers so old that they were illegible, was the hilt of a blade. The blade had been mostly sheared off, leaving the metal as a rather pathetic remnant. It was strange; Dimitri wasn't particularly messy, so it was unusual for him to keep a piece of trash.

With a hum, he picked it up, turning it in his hand. It was small, far too small for Felix to wield now. But not entirely unreasonable for a child. A future knight, maybe, who--

Felix blinked, eyes settling on the Crest of Fraldarius at the pommel. He set the hilt down with a scowl. The sentimental fool.

The echoes of the party forced him back to attention. To be found here would be suspicious. To be found here by Dimitri would be mortifying.

Still, he absolutely wasn't going to return to the Ballroom. That would be insane. Masochistic.

He sighed, continuing his trek down the halls. If he continued this way, he could make it to the outer parapets. No one would think Felix Hugo Fraldarius was anywhere but the Ballroom or Training Ground, and certainly not up there. There might be a guard or two doing patrols, but they would have the sense to leave him be.

He exited the hall, the path splitting. Down would lead him back toward the others, up to the safety and silence of the walls. On habit, he glanced back toward the Ballroom. A part of him wished he hadn't.

Between him and the Ballroom was the Garden, and _there_ was Dimitri—his form and posture easily identifiable—and there was their Professor. The figure was less distinct, but his luminescent hair practically glowed in the dark, so it could be no one else.

Felix's footsteps paused. They weren't terribly close to him, but still he could see their expressions. They were talking, the conversation serious, but not particularly somber. The Professor smiled softly, a hand settling on Dimitri's arm. Dimitri wrung his hands in front of him, but he didn't look stressed. No, he smiled—a real, heartfelt smile. He spoke, but his words seemed awkward. Like he was falling over himself to come up with the right thing to say.

Like he was trying to say something to someone he really cared for.

Felix turned away, going up the stairs. Of course he would be fond of their Professor. Most of the class was, to some extent. That man always seemed to fill something they all needed, even if they didn't know that they needed it. He was the one person in the world that they all would rely on and follow without question. While Dimitri likely bore the same sentiment as his companions, there was definitely something more to it, too.

That something was obvious: for someone like Dimitri, the Professor was perfection incarnate. The Professor was someone he would always be able to rely on, who was always capable of supporting him, even when he was weak. He was the one who had found the Prince, brought him back to his people. He had supported Dimitri's goals, even when Dimitri was entirely incapable of handling them himself. He was the one who had kept Dimitri from running headfirst to his own demise. He was the one who stood at the side of the King when he came before his own people.

From a practical point, it was a match made by the Goddess. Dimitri, the King of Faerghus, and Byleth, the current Archbishop of the Church. Sure, they would have a problem with heirs, but there were always ways around that. And Byleth was immensely intelligent—he'd definitely have something planned within weeks of their union.

He wasn't jealous, he at least knew that much when he arrived at the parapets. Jealousy would imply that he thought he was any sort of competition to their Professor. He wasn't jealous . . .

. . . but that didn't mean it didn't hurt to see.

With a sigh, he sat on one of the raised walls, his feet left free to dangle. He tapped his boot on the stone, looking down at the streets below to distract himself.

It was easy enough; even though it was late, the town was still lit up in celebration. People were dancing in the streets to music that echoed down the alleys. Children ran and played, their shrieks broken up by giggles. There was a long road of recovery ahead—years and years of it—but they had this moment. A moment of reprieve for the lives that had been saved. Felix smiled.

And then it faded away. Not so far away, the sound of metal boots scraped against the stone of the steps. Slow and careful, like someone was trying to hide the fact that they were approaching.

It didn't matter. Felix still knew what Dimitri's steps sounded like. "It's rude to skip your own party." He chided.

Dimitri sighed. "I . . . suppose I'm just unaccustomed to so many people in one place."

"Better get used to it." Felix glanced back at him. "I'm not handling all your audiences for you."

"I'm sure you would stab me if I tried."

"Probably."

Dimitri chuckled, his face lighting up in a way that didn't match the reserved sound. It was bright, at ease for the moment.

For his own sanity, Felix returned his gaze back to the city.

Dimitri stepped a bit closer. "Were you . . . waiting for someone here?"

"No."

Another step closer. "Sylvain, maybe?"

Felix snorted. "No. He's probably off flirting and getting slapped."

"Hm. Sounds like him." Dimitri was now just behind him, hovering just at the edge. "May I--"

"Just _sit_ _down_."

Dimitri coughed, taking the place beside Felix almost immediately. "Er, thank you."

He had expected Dimitri to say something. To have some reason for leaving Byleth's company, for coming up here, for intruding in Felix's sanctuary. But he was quiet. The only sound coming from him was the sound of his breathing.

Maybe he had come to scold Felix about the last battle. He'd taken quite a few hits, which forced some rushed healing jobs prior to the party. Or maybe it was about him getting in the way of Dimitri's battle. It could also be for taking away one of his chances at vengeance. Or, quite possibly, he could just lecture him about leaving the celebration early.

Felix glanced up to the sky. The stars were shining tonight. Like they were all watching, ready to mock him. Maybe . . .

He exhaled sharply through his nose. "Why do you always ask about Sylvain?"

Dimitri glanced away. "I don't know what you mean."

"When you—" Felix rubbed his face. What was he hoping for? "Forget it."

He looked back down to the people. The instruments below had changed to something softer, sweeter. People were sitting together, watching as the children still played. Some danced in time, holding close. It was sickeningly sweet.

Dimitri sighed heavily. Not in a way that was tired, or drained. It was like he was still grasping onto those stupid thoughts of his. Felix glanced over, hoping he was wrong. To his disdain, he most certainly wasn't.

Dimitri's lips were pressed together so tight that they made a thin line. Felix could see his jaw clench as his teeth ground together. Worse, his eye was half-lidded, looking down at his people like the very sight of them was painful. That gaze was distant and present all in the same moment.

Felix huffed a poor imitation of a laugh. "Only _you_ would look like a kicked mutt at your own celebration."

"Oh . . . I apologize if I'm," Dimitri paused, shaking his head, "poor company."

Felix rolled his eyes. "You're still stuck on what that old hag said."

Dimitri twitched, but he still didn't look at Felix. "Am I that obvious?"

"Obviously." With a huff, he turned his torso toward Dimitri, glaring as he jabbed an accusing finger in the space between the armor plating on his arm. "Focus on that nonsense and you won't have time for what really matters."

Dimitri glanced down at him, gaze wary. For only this moment, Felix kept his gaze firm, locked on his King.

It remained until Dimitri eventually sighed, a slight smile on his lips. "I always can rely on you to set me on the right path, can't I?"

Felix blinked, face immediately hot. He had to be glad for the darkness around them, lest it be obvious that he was blushing. Not that he was actually blushing. Because Felix didn't blush.

"Mm," Dimitri continued, voice soft in his consideration, "I've always been able to rely on your honesty, haven't I? So . . . perhaps I should be honest with you."

Felix jerked away, glaring back down at the town. He just wanted Dimitri to stop being dumb. He didn't want this—whatever this was. It was better not to know what was going on in Dimitri's head. To just leave himself in ignorance.

Dimitri exhaled slowly. "I wish to . . . tell you something, if you'll allow it."

Felix scowled, mind running over the possibilities. He picked the most ridiculous thing that he was sure Dimitri would never admit to. "Finally found yourself a queen?"

He could see Dimitri blush so much that he nearly glowed, even in the limited light. "N-not exactly."

Good, he was uncomfortable. Maybe he'd stop this stupid mission of his. "Hmph. A consort, then."

"Yes," the plainness of Dimitri's tone had Felix nearly tumbling off the parapet, fingers clenching against stone to keep himself balanced, "if he'll have me."

Felix snorted, lip curling on instinct. Of course Dimitri was overly earnest about the _one_ thing Felix thought he'd never answer. And of course it was the one thing Felix never wanted to hear.

But . . . it was his duty to guide the King. To make sure he was safe, and able to make the decisions he needed to make. It didn't matter how much Felix might have loathed it. "Why wouldn't he?"

Dimitri clasped his hands in front of him, head held low. "Because of . . . our history." He swallowed. "I relied so much on him, took advantage of his aid, and then I . . . threw it in his face." Dimitri's shoulders slumped, expression falling more every moment. "I've tried hard to make up for it, but . . . I fear I may never earn his forgiveness, let alone his affections."

Felix rolled his eyes. Always overthinking, even when the answer was plain in his face. "I'm pretty sure the Professor has already forgiven you for that. There's no need to dwell on—" Felix wasn't an overly observant man, but even he could tell that he was being stared at. His gaze flicked up, scowl on his lips. "—what?"

Dimitri's focus was unrelenting in a way that made Felix want to squirm. "Would you have?"

"Would I have _what_?"

"Forgiven me."

Felix opened his mouth. For sheer spite, he wanted to say no. But he wasn't that sort of fool anymore, nor did he want to be. He wanted to be as honest with Dimitri—with the one friend he had thought he had lost forever. Who he never wanted to lose again.

But that was still hard to say while maintaining eye contact. He huffed, looking back to the people below. "Yeah . . . I guess I have."

There was the chill of metal against his jaw. Felix only realized that it was Dimitri's hand as he was gently nudged by it to face the King—now so, so close. He twitched, but he didn't pull away.

"In that case," Dimitri's words were barely above a whisper, yet his breath still brushed against Felix's lips, "I fervently hope that your feelings for Sylvain are as platonic as mine are for the Professor."

And then Dimitri closed the gap, pressing his lips in a soft kiss.

It was like every buzzing thought in Felix's head was silenced at once, letting him ease into it. He closed his eyes, letting just the sensation take over. He relished in the gentleness, the warmth. The feeling of Dimitri being so cautious, so careful, like he thought this might break Felix. What a funny thought, to be hurt in that way.

Belatedly, as Dimitri pulled back, Felix realized that it may have been the fear of rejection. The distance between them was so little as their breath mingled—and yet Dimitri didn't close the gap again. He sat there, eye half-lidded as it searched Felix's expression.

He wanted Felix to decide.

The sensible thing to do would be to leave. To break away, shatter his King's heart and affections now while it was still new—while it still hadn't settled. They would fall back into their proper roles, regarding each other as a proper King and Duke should, and ignore this nonsense. Dimitri would heal; he would choose someone more practical, more suitable for what he needed. And Felix would get over it, because he always managed somehow.

Damn it all.

Felix reached up, threading his fingers into Dimitri's hair. When Dimitri still made no move, he curled those fingers firm, pulling his hair to bring Dimitri's lips to his own. Felix insistently pressed into the kiss, an appreciative hum passing his lips as Dimitri's hand settled into the small of his back. He smiled against those gentle lips as Dimitri pulled him closer.

Felix had given up so much to this world . . . he could take just one thing for himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly can't remember when Dimitri is crowned so let's all just pretend it's now. Oh look! A distraction:  
> Next chapter is the last one! We're almost there!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for the end (obviously)!

Light crept into the windows in a way more difficult to ignore with each passing hour. It wasn't like Faerghus, where the sky was often so obscured by dense clouds that one could sleep the day away without the sun glaring its disdain. No, Garreg Mach's sun in this season was merciless, already lingering in the sky well before most people even opened their eyes.

Normally, Felix would rise with the sun. But, for the last week or so, he'd allowed himself to relish in the late mornings. The battle on the horizon was going to be the hardest he'd fought in his life. If he wasn't careful, and didn't take the time to rest, he'd collapse when he'd least expected it.

And it wasn't like the couple months prior were exactly restful, either.

The paths they'd chosen were dangerous and exhausting, but entirely necessary. If they went any other way, they would have been flanked and obliterated before they even approached the Emperor. The odds weren't in their favor, but they _had to_.

Well, in the end it really didn't matter how hard it was, or how exhausted their forces were. They didn't have any significant losses. _And_ they had a united Kingdom and Leicester behind them. It gave them a proper army, well-stocked and ready for the direct assault on Enbarr.

For a short time, they could afford to rest.

With a small sigh, Felix rolled to his side. It didn't block the sunlight, but it did offer a far more appealing view than the blandness of the wall. Dimitri was still sleeping soundly, oblivious to the light shining directly in his face. His hair glistened, practically a sun on its own. His arm tucked under his head, pushing his pillow against his face in a way that made him seem so innocent. The softness in his expression made it seem like there was nothing ever wrong with the world.

Of course, that was only Felix's imagination talking. Dimitri was a fool in many ways, but he was certainly not blind to the risks he had been taking. He no doubt knew that his orders could lead a friend to their demise. That, when the dust of the battle cleared, any one of them could wind up buried beneath the battleground. It only ever took one bad order, one foolish mistake.

For that very reason, Felix had expected Dimitri to be stubborn, idiotic. Felix was sure he would be overly protective—doing whatever he could possibly get away with. Maybe try to take out Felix's enemies before they reached him, or take hits for Felix, or try and force Felix to stay to the back of the battle. Or, worse, try to get him to stay behind entirely.

Not that Felix would have tolerated any of that nonsense.And, even if he did,Byleth would never have allowed it. Both swordsmen were needed at the front line, their speed and endurance enough to stall—if not fell—the worst of the forces that stood in their way. To deny Felix his best in battle would be a detriment to the army.

But Dimitri was still Dimitri, not just a king. He was someone who had lost, who likely could not bear to lose again. Reasonably, he would be terrified of what another loss would do to his mind—especially if it was Felix. It would not be unreasonable to expect Dimitri to treat Felix like a damsel in need of protection—if not for Felix's sake, then for Dimitri's.

And yet he didn't do any of that. The only real change in Dimitri came at the end of a battle, when he practically glowed with that stupid smile the very moment he saw Felix. It was so damn radiant that it could make even the most stoic man giddy.

Well, that was new _and_ (literally the second they were alone in the Monastery) the way he kissed Felix again and again against the nearest wall until he was absolutely breathless.

A small mutter passed through Dimitri's lips, drawing Felix's thoughts back to the moment. Felix leaned in a little, lips pressed together as he looked for any sign of disturbance. But Dimitri was still out, lips moving slightly, lashes fluttering as he dreamed. It was perhaps not the most pleasant dream, by the way his eyebrow twitched, but it certainly wasn't a nightmare.

Felix sighed. Dimitri sleeping soundly was a rarity; Dimitri sleeping without the intrusion of a nightmare was nearly impossible. Felix would kick himself if he managed to ruin the rare peace.

Felix had realized the extent of these dreams the first night he'd shared a bed with Dimitri and found himself quite literally thrown to the floor. Once his temper had eased (and, admittedly, it had been a bit more volatile than necessary), he'd properly interrogated Dimitri.

He couldn't get the details—Dimitri absolutely _refused_ to divulge those—but he could get the gist. The nightmares were like when they were kids, just _more_ in every way. More frequent, more violent, and more traumatizing. Which probably wasn't too surprising, considering Lord Arundel's death, the information about the late Queen,and Edelgard, well . . . it brought Duscur too easily to the forefront. And even now, even with victory so close, those horrible dreams plagued Dimitri more often than they didn't.

Felix learned quite quickly that, if he wished to actually get any rest, he had to intervene the moment they came.

Eventually, Felix stumbled across something that worked: the same tactic he had used as a child. He could easily avoid Dimitri's twitches and flinching, taking his time to tuck his head beneath Dimitri's chin. When that calmed the more violent reactions, he wrapped an arm around the bigger man, rubbing soothing circles into Dimitri's back with his fingertips. Felix had to stay awake until Dimitri stopped gripping Felix like he feared he would vanish, until the kisses to his collarbone finally hushed the muted whimpers and pleas, until the trembling in Dimitri's fingers stopped entirely. _Then_ Felix could go back to sleep.

Felix _had_ tried to stop them completely, but that effort only lasted a week. He tried sparring with Dimitri till both of them were on the verge of collapse, worked on arrangements and preparations until the words on the pages became blurry, and even tried a few other creative ways to exhaust him. But it was all to no avail. It didn't matter how tired Dimitri was, or how positive the day was, or literally anything else. The dreams hung over him like a rotting fruit tree, just dropping misery onto him whenever it pleased.

Which meant that Felix staying here was the only reasonable thing left to do, even if it looked . . . odd.If anyone asked (and no one had, _yet_ ), Dimitri would be sure to open his mouth without thinking, probably smiling like an idiot. And Felix, well, he knew what he'd say. After all, who else would stay to make sure the King got his proper rest? Who else even knew _how_ to combat those spectered dreams?

The answer was a clear and bitter reminder. No one, not even Dedue, knew how to handle these properly. Which meant that, in the days where Felix absolutely refused to so much as _look_ at the Boar, Dimitri had been left to face his nightmares alone. That he had been burdened by sleepless nights, forced to suffer the agony by himself.

A part of Felix wondered if he would have acted any differently if he'd known. If he would have tried to help, even if he was wary—no, afraid—of the Boar. But that wasn't even a question; he knew he wouldn't even have acknowledged it. He would have thought the beast that devoured his friend deserved it. Maybe he would have felt more justified in leaving Dimitri to his fate in Fhirdiad.

He rubbed his eyes. It was too early for this nonsense. Dwelling on the past never solved anything, only gave him a headache.

He froze the moment he felt a broad hand run up his side, the touch warm even through his nightshirt. Slowly, he shifted his hand away from his eyes. Dimitri's damn smile was practically a sunbeam on its own, shimmering between Felix's fingers.

Felix frowned. "What?"

Dimitri's smile widened. "Can I not be happy seeing such a lovely face in the morning?"

"No." Not even ten minutes awake, and Felix could already feel the scowl forming on his lips.

Dimitri was entirely unfazed. With a chuckle, he propped himself up on an elbow, looking down at Felix with a fondness that was almost too intense to look at directly. "A shame." He hummed, his one hand still wandering up Felix's side, tracing the path of the long scar there. "I am not opposed to coming up with other reasons."

Felix groaned, trying to rub the growing blush off his own face. "Don't."

"As you wish." Dimitri shrugged, leaning down a bit to press a kiss to Felix's shoulder. "I suppose you'll just have to endure my response as it is, then."

"You're insufferable." Felix cupped his hand along Dimitri's cheek, if only to spare himself the embarrassment of further affection. It was too early; he didn't have half the guard he needed to survive this with his pride intact.

But a little contact, a little tenderness, he could handle that. Felix's thumb brushed over Dimitri's cheekbone, skin grazing just the tip of the knotted scars that obscured Dimitri's eye. Even now, he couldn't quite tell if the eye was even there beneath the mess, or if it was lost entirely. Not that it really mattered; Dimitri's gaze was still as intense with one eye as it had ever been with two—perhaps even more so.

Admittedly, it still irked him that Dimitri wouldn't tell him what happened. But it was like arguing with a boulder, so Felix had quickly dropped the argument. Besides, with the fractured control the Boar had back then, it wasn't hard to guess.

Dimitri leaned into the touch, very nearly nuzzling into Felix's hand. "What is it?" He asked, all gentleness and none of the edge that Felix always had.

Felix bit the inside of his cheek, choosing to frown. "Your hair is a mess." He shifted his hold, fingers brushing upward to comb through those absurd blond locks. They stuck out through his fingers, falling back in strange ways each time he moved his hand. "It would be easier to fight with it out of your face."

"Hm, true. But I have no skill in the matter." Dimitri mused. His smile shifted into something sly. "Though I would not protest if you did it for me."

Felix dropped his hand immediately. "Forget it."

Dimitri hummed, his free hand shifting to lace his fingers with Felix's. Gaze fixed and intense, he brought Felix's hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to each knuckle. He let his eyelid flutter closed, breath warm against the back of Felix's hand. "I could really use the help today."

Felix blushed bright. "Then have Mercedes or Annette do it." He had to look away just to spare himself some dignity. "They're better than I am."

He could feel Dimitri smile against his skin. "But I want you to do it."

"No," Felix snorted, glaring at the nightstand by the bed, "you want to distract me."

"Hm," Dimitri shifted his hand, kissing Felix's fingertips, "should I ask nicer?"

Every braincell short-circuited, making Felix snap his hand back as quickly as he could. He was pretty sure he was glowing from his forehead down to his chest. And Dimitri's smug smile was _not_ helping.

"Brush." Felix muttered, swallowing hard. He motioned vaguely toward the end of the bed. "And sit there."

Dimitri sat up immediately, stealing a kiss before obediently accosting the vanity with his search.

Felix groaned, rubbing his face as he watched Dimitri rifle through the drawers. Dimitri was never really one to use the thing, which meant Felix had _plenty_ of time to try and get his senses back. Not that they showed any sign of coming back any time soon.

He tried to distract himself, watching as Dimitri continued his search, noting his expression in the mirror. His eyebrows were knitted together, lips moving as he muttered to himself. Focused like this was a rare hidden treasure or a miraculous battle strategy or . . . something else that this definitely didn't compare to. Not that Felix could really complain—they needed the distraction—but still . . .

"Found it!" Dimitri cheered, holding the brush like a sword and grinning.

With a sigh, Felix shifted closer to the end of the bed. He tucked his knees beneath him, arms crossed to make it as clear as he could that this _was_ an inconvenience. "Hurry up before I change my mind."

Dimitri stepped over, placing the brush in Felix's hand with a rather unnecessary amount of touching—taking his hand, uncurling the fist, wrapping Felix's fingers around the handle—before taking his place right at the end of the bed. He was perched a bit precariously, but that just meant Felix could shove him off if he started getting a bit too sentimental about the whole thing.

Felix started gentle, running the brush through the small tangles at the ends before taking on longer strokes. Dimitri's hair wasn't particularly difficult to deal with, but it was fine in a way that often led to tangles come morning. At the very least, consistent care now kept it from becoming like the matted mess it had once been.

"I won't break, Felix," Dimitri said, the name a soft sigh on his lips, "you need not be so gentle."

"I don't recall asking for your opinion." Felix huffed, shifting his attention to the top of Dimitri's head. If he twisted the brush just right, he could guide most of the bangs into a half ponytail. Some of it was too short, so those hairs would inevitably fall back to Dimitri's face. But at least it wouldn't be quite as bad as it normally was.

He glanced down, looking for one of the ties he usually had wrapped around his brush. The sight before him, though, made him pause.

Dimitri's shoulders were relaxed, at ease in a way that he hardly ever allowed, even when they had a moment alone. His head tilted back slightly, making his face easily visible from Felix's vantage. His eye was closed, expression peaceful. It seemed like he was mouthing over some words, but his lips were only slightly parted, and the movement was so minimal that it was hard to say for sure. And yet his fingers clenched into hard fists in his lap, thumbs repeatedly brushing against each other.

Felix adjusted the hairs at Dimitri's ear, his pinkie and ring fingers massaging at his temple. "You shouldn't go."

Dimitri sighed, his hands freezing in place. "I need to. I must . . . see this through."

Felix tied off his work with a scowl. "You won't be able to convince her." He let his hand rest on Dimitri's shoulder, evaluating his work for any critical misses. It had to be perfect. If he was wrong, and Edelgard tried to use this stupid meeting of theirs to eliminate her only remaining enemy, then-- "She's too far gone."

Slowly, Dimitri turned his head to look over his shoulder. "You thought I was, once." He was determined, not accusatory, but Felix didn't miss that touch of sorrow behind that eye of his. "I have to."

Felix's scowl deepened. "Then let me come with you." The Professor was strong, but there was no chance he and Dimitri could survive an ambush.

Dimitri's set his hand on Felix's, the weight pressing Felix's hand firmer against Dimitri's shoulder. "You've asked me to trust you, Felix." He said, voice soft. A finger absentmindedly brushed over Felix's knuckles. "I need you to trust me."

Felix snapped his hand away, immediately leaving his perch on the bed. "Do what you want." Not sure where to place his anger, he glared at his things draped over a chair. He yanked them with such force that the chair nearly topped over. "I have to get ready."

The slam of the door behind him echoed in the hall, but he didn't care. He could get ready fine in his own room. He wasn't going to sit there while Dimitri was being so lax about getting himself killed.

If Dimitri refused to see sense, then that wasn't Felix's problem.

  
  


That thought, and his anger, fizzled out entirely once they were camped just outside the gates of Enbarr. The wall before them, the army obviously waiting on the other side . . . it just made it too real. This was their last battle. If there was any time for one of them to fall, it would be now.

And Felix could never forgive himself if something _did_ happen, and if this was how he'd left it.

With a frustrated groan, he crossed the temporary camp to Dimitri's tent. No doubt the king and Byleth were planning now, making any last-minute refinements to ensure victory.

Surely the Professor wouldn't mind if Felix intruded for a moment or so—after all, the battle plan made it so they wouldn't see each other until they made it _into_ the palace, so of course Felix would have to remind the King to not be a complete idiot. It was really the only sensible way to keep him from getting killed.

Right as he arrived at the tent's entrance, Felix found himself face-to-face with Dimitri. He blinked; every word he had planned just evaporated. Which meant he had to improvise. And he was just _so_ good at that. "I have something to say." Yes, perfect. Not an awful start at all.

Dimitri sighed, expression shifting into something somber. "Felix, I have to do this."

"I know that, you idiot." He snapped. His flinch was as immediate as Dimitri's. Rubbing his hand down his face, Felix mentally cursed himself. This was going lovely.

It was the words. It didn't matter how much he had obsessed over it on their journey to Enbarr. It didn't matter how much he had refined what he'd say. Felix was never a man of words—he couldn't even say what he wanted to say under _normal_ circumstances.

But . . . he could always work with actions. With a huff, he reached for one of the scabbards at his side, undoing the laces. This blade had been at his side for years, but perhaps this was the time to pass it on. It had someone more important to protect.

"Take this." He huffed, holding the Sword of Zoltan out to Dimitri.

Dimitri blinked. Slowly, he unsheathed the sword, as if seeing the blade would reveal that it was a sham. Or that touching it would incite Felix to insist that it was a joke, and demand his sword back. When Felix didn't respond at all, he re-sheathed it, expression pinched. "Felix, I--"

"Just take it." Felix shoved the weapon into Dimitri's hands, taking an abrupt step back before turning on his heel. "Bring it back when you've won."

"Wait--"

Felix waved his hand dismissively, heading back toward his own tent. He still needed to pack his curatives, recheck his armor, and make sure his weapons were ready. "I still have preparations to make. I don't have time to--"

He was cut off by arms wrapping tight around him, the contact so insistent that it was nearly suffocating. "Please be safe." Dimitri whispered, lips so close to Felix's ear. "If I lost you, I . . ."

"Worry about yourself, Your Majesty." Felix's blow with his elbow was swift, but it had no power to it. The tap gave Dimitri hint enough, and his grip relaxed. Felix took a few steps to increase the distance between them.

This was already too much of an indulgence with time they didn't have.

"Can't I do both?" Dimitri asked, voice soft. Felix could hear the sad smile so loudly that he didn't even need to look.

Felix groaned. Well, they'd already wasted a lot of time. What was a little bit longer? Sighing, he turned and closed the gap between them, just as quickly pulling Dimitri down for a kiss. It was almost chaste—almost.

"One more thing," Felix muttered, smirking against Dimitri's lips, "don't break my sword."

  
  


The battle hadn't been going for more than an hour, and yet the air was already heavy with the scent of death. It was more noticeable once Felix advanced where the battle had yet to reach. Part of it was him: his clothes were already heavy with blood that was not his, and his sword shimmered red from the several battalions' worth of men he'd cut through. The other part was from the battle taking place on the other side of the city—where Dimitri and Byleth were advancing with such force that likely it had Enbarr reeling.

He'd been irritated when he learned that he was not going to be among them for the frontal assault. But the reason was clear; the advance required sheer force. Byleth and Dimitri were _very_ good in that aspect. Felix . . . not good enough.

But this was, admittedly, also important. If Edelgard was expecting reinforcements, they had only one way to enter this battleground. From what Byleth could tell, any reinforcements would cut off the Kingdom's advance and double their losses. And they were too close to allow that now.

Felix slowed his steps, shifting his breathing to something more natural. His advance had been rapid, the forces here little more than a minor obstacle in his way. It was no real surprise; the stronger force would need to fight the stronger attackers—not a wayward swordsman. Knowing Hubert, the people here were likely little more than fodder meant to delay him. To buy the reinforcements just enough time to arrive.

The thrum of magic made his hairs stand on end—on instinct, he jumped back to cover. Reflexively, he shielded his eyes, but it hardly diminished the radiant light. Thoron was impossible to mistake, the resonant magic practically buzzing in his chest. When he stood, his eyes settled on the singed stone, spreading far further than the spot where he had previously been.

Well, not all of the forces were fodder, it seemed.

"Seeing your face," the feminine voice was soft, almost musical, "it does bring back some memories."

Felix sighed, his grip adjusting as he stepped back into view. A spell took time to cast, but a wise mage would have already anticipated the distance. He'd be dead before he could close the gap.

And Dorothea was just that good of a mage.

"Thought you'd leave with the civilians." Felix said, willing his sword hand to be still. If he fought right, he _could_ win. Though he didn't exactly relish the thought of killing the woman in front of him.

"Well," she ran her fingers through her hair, so at odds with the miserable expression on her face, "can't let you burn down my home, now can I?"

"Your Emperor tried to burn down mine." He turned wholly now, facing her.

"Oh, so that gives you the right to destroy everything?"

His hand tightened around his blade. A Levin sword would be more convenient, but to draw it would take too long."You should leave."

Her lips curled. "And why is that?"

He could close the gap, but lesser and faster spells would hit him. To stand here, though, wasn't much better, leaving him vulnerable to a Meteor or a Saggitae or something worse. This was the last chance he could afford to give her. "Because otherwise I will kill you."

She laughed—cold and hard and real in a way he'd never heard from her at the Academy. "I'd like to see you try."

Felix charged, ducking under a Bolganone. The flames singed the fur of his armor. No matter how strong she was, she was still a mage—a single cut would do it. He'd make it quick, painless. There was no reason for her to suffer.

  
  


He sheathed his blade, lips pressed together. The sword was cracked now, one attack away from being completely useless. Dorothea had been more of a fight than he had expected; he didn't think her still a frivolous girl, the war didn't allow that, but he hadn't expected her to be such a challenge. To be as forceful with a blade as she was with magic. If things had been different, he could almost imagine sparring with her, relishing in the unique challenge she could have provided.

But she still wasn't better than him.

As he drew his Levin sword, he glanced down at her body. He'd set her down in front of the opera house; when the battle was done, he knew her people would find her. They would give her the respect she deserved. It was the best he could offer for a battle well-fought.

An explosion rang out in the distance, followed by several more. Felix's eyes narrowed, gaze following the trail. Nearer and nearer to the palace, the final leg of the assault approached its destination. It would be a difficult battle, judging by the size and radius of the bursts. If he was quick enough, he could join in.

He glanced down the street, where a small force slowly approached. They eyed him warily, the leader obviously trying to shield himself behind his men. A minor noble, no doubt, still trying to earn himself a nice place in case the Emperor happened to win. His former unit had probably abandoned him once they realized that the only fate awaiting Enbarr was defeat and death. It was laughable: the best this man could muster was a Mortal Savant, Assassin, and a Warlock.

Well, if he handled this quickly, then maybe he could rejoin Dimitri before the battle was done.

  
  


He wasn't so lucky.

By the time he made it to the central plaza, the rest of the Blue Lions had already arrived and were tending to their wounds. No one looked particularly injured—nothing that wouldn't heal, at least—but the battle certainly had not been easy on any of them.

The problem wasn't physical. Wrestling with the morality of it all was easy enough when they were struggling to survive, when they were trying to protect their homeland. It was something a little different when _they_ were the invaders. When the city under attack was someone else's home.

For Felix it was easy enough. This _had_ to end—and would only do so if Edelgard ceded or died. Whoever refused to stand down was just in the way, no less an enemy than their Emperor. And Felix was determined to cut them all down until the Empire was no longer a threat to his home or his king.

For the others—Mercedes, Annette, Ashe—it wasn't that simple. Many of them had once been friends with the Empire's generals. Likewise, innocent civilians were likely among those they killed. It wouldn't be surprising if the Lions became disillusioned with the whole endeavor.

But it looked like, instead, this only drove them more. Sure, they looked drained, exhausted. But, rallied by their king, they would definitely see this to the end. Felix didn't bother hiding his smile.

They charged in as a unit, already knowing their roles. To be unprepared would give Edelgard too much time to ready herself, give her soldiers too much of an opportunity to funnel them into death. Annette, Mercedes, Dedue, and Ashe to the Eastern side; Sylvain and Ingrid to the center; and Felix, Dimitri, and Byleth to the Western Side. Together, they could dwindle the numbers, cut off reinforcements, and reach Edelgard with as few losses as possible.

Edelgard's soldiers charged with shouts and hollers, but their response was too slow; no doubt Edelgard's personal guard never expected the Kingdom to make it this far. Behind them, those demonic beasts attacked relentlessly, entirely disregarding friend or foe in the way.

It was wholly predictable—all to Byleth's expectations. As such, so long as Felix stayed alive, kept driving his blade through his enemies, this win would be almost too easy.

And then light struck out from nowhere, a scorching beam shooting straight through their Professor. The light was blinding—scalding even from this distance. The magic power required made Felix feel like _his_ blood was on fire, even though he was nowhere close. If Byleth survived, it wouldn't be for long.

Felix twitched, ripping the Levin sword through another unit's armor before running to his teacher's side. They had made it this far only thanks to Byleth's guidance—even with things as they were, there was no guarantee they could make it without him.

When he arrived, he could do nothing but blink. He had been _certain_ that the man had been hit directly. He should have been scorched, wounded to just a breath away from death. Felix had _felt_ that power. He knew what it could do.

But Byleth looked well, no injuries particularly out of place. The man smiled, shrugging. The most damage was a tattered cape, the bulk of it burned to ash.

Dimitri looked as confused as Felix felt. That was about all they could allow themselves—they didn't have the time to linger on confusion.

Fortunately, it was easy to figure out when the light was about to hit and appropriately dodge it. At worst, it left them with minor burns, up until the beams stopped entirely. Which meant that it was likely targeting the others. They could only hope that the others were wise to the nature of these attacks. At least long enough for its source to be annihilated.

And Felix was fairly certain he knew where it was coming from.

When they arrived in the Throne Room, Felix wished he could be satisfied that he was right. The source was, indeed, incredibly powerful. But that power had come at a cost.

Edelgard was nearly unidentifiable. She had become warped into an ugly, twisted thing. A strange mix of woman, beast, and machine. She was immense in size—far grander than any of the beasts they had fought on the way here. Her aura was intimidating. No, terrifying.

At one time, Felix could almost understand her. At one point, he almost wanted to. But he could grant her that no longer. No goal could be worth this. There was no way she could go back to human—so, even if she won, even if she destroyed the Kingdom, she lost.

His hand trembled. Dimitri might not have been so different, if he had continued down his path. If his only goal remained the obliteration of the empire.

"Focus." Dimitri said, voice at a low rumble. In his hand, Areadbhar glowed, and he smiled down at his friend. "We will end this."

  
  


Such a thing was easier said than done, Felix realized, unable to get his breathing to a steady level. His limbs were heavy with the exertion, already losing the responsiveness he'd so often relied on. While he had thankfully avoided most of Edelgard's attacks, his shoulder still burned with the damage done by too many near-misses.

Even now, he could hear Byleth fighting off the reinforcements, somehow managing them on his own. Perhaps the growing pile of bodies proved a useful obstacle. Didn't matter—all that mattered was that Felix and Dimitri could fully focus on Edelgard. Though two men against an abomination was a stretch, even for Felix's arrogance.

He took a step back, dodging around another of Edelgard's spells. They were powerful, but not quite to the same extent as the beams of light. Even more fortunately, they were slow, giving Felix plenty opportunity to chip away at her defenses with his Levin sword.

It didn't seem to do much on its own, but it wasn't as if he was expecting to do damage. All he needed to do was make a crack. Every one he exposed Dimitri targeted mercilessly with Areadbhar. When Sylvain and Ingrid took on the reinforcements, the assault doubled with the power of the Sword of the Creator.

The battle would not be quick, but they could do it—if they didn't make a mistake.

The problem was that, with time, both Dimitri and Byleth often became impatient enough to slip. Felix eyed them carefully as he dodged attacks; their mistakes were infrequent, but increased in frequency with each passing minute.

And then it happened.

Byleth was healing Dimitri, who had taken enough hits for it to potentially become a problem. For a moment, they had been out of Edelgard's range. But the emperor only needed to shift a little for those incredibly long arms of hers to reach. And Edelgard definitely noticed.

Relishing in their distraction, she swiped down with her immense claws.

Felix ran as fast as his body would allow, till breathing seemed impossible and his legs felt like they belonged to someone else. He spun around, wielding his father's—his—shield. The impact reverberated in his bones, pain shooting through his body.

His jaw clenched; he'd definitely taken the full impact of the hit, but it meant that the others were safe. Panting with the exertion, he struggled against the beast as it pressed more and more against him. His knees threatened to buckle, but . . . but if he could manage . . .

Grimacing, Felix thrust his shield against that claw, shoving back as hard as he could. Seeing the opening, he swung his sword down with all the force he could muster. If he could remove that damned arm--

"Felix!" Dimitri's shout was loud, startling, but it wasn't quick enough.

Claws dug into Felix's sword arm, pulling him up with a force he could hardly fathom. He gasped as his feet left the ground, his shoulder screaming from trying to support his weight at such an angle, threatening to dislocate entirely. A shield was a pointless weapon, but Felix swung it up all the same, trying to break free.

Edelgard, however, was unfazed. With little effort, her claws squeezed in deeper to his flesh. Bone cracked under the pressure, and the sound that came out of Felix's mouth sounded foreign even to his own ears. Beyond it, he could hear his shield and blade clattering to the ground.

He gasped for breath, his blood already staining through his sleeve. With a wince, he reached up, casting Ragnarok directly against her wrist. The flames burned at his face and arms, but the pain was nothing compared to Edelgard's shriek.

She whipped him around hard before throwing him across the battlefield. His landing was violent, graceless. A trail of blood followed where he rolled, stopping only when his back slammed against the far wall.

His heartbeat thrummed in his ears, a blazing pain radiating throughout his body. Breathing hurt, but he _had_ to focus on something. Dimitri would think he had died. Would get distracted. Would get himself killed. He _had_ to get up.

The whimper he made was pathetic as he pressed burnt hand against the ground, trying to prop himself up. He could ignore it, since his nerves hadn't quite realized the extent of the damage, but he certainly couldn't ignore the crack in his shoulder as he placed his other hand down to support himself. And definitely couldn't pretend that he wouldn't bleed out if he put any weight on that arm.

"Be still." Mercedes' voice was gentle in a way that put every one of Felix's nerves on edge. It was that sort of forced sound she reserved for those she wasn't sure would make it. He'd heard it a thousand times for others, but never for himself.

"I'm fine." Felix grumbled, finding it more difficult to breathe as he forced himself to shift up and sit against the wall. "Just . . . winded."

Mercedes' hand glowed, but the relief was nearly imperceptible. "Felix--"

"I need to get back to battle." He shifted to get up, but found himself far too easily put back in his place by Mercedes' gentle hand.

"Felix, I need to take you to the other healers. I can't . . ." Mercedes shook her head, "I don't have enough strength left to heal you."

"I'm fine." Felix repeated. He glanced past Mercedes, where a soldier was attempting to sneak up on Dimitri and Byleth.

With a grimace, he cast Thoron, watching in satisfaction as it hit straight through his target. The attacker crumpled, already half-charcoaled. But Felix's satisfaction was short lived; residual magic shot back up his arm, burning a trail up. He doubled over, groaning.

"See?" He gasped, biting down hard on his lip to will that new pain away. It was a warning; next time, he could possibly lose the arm. "I'm fine."

"If you go back," Mercedes put her hand on his eviscerated arm, working to stop the bleeding there, "you'll die."

He glared up at her. He knew that; of course he knew that. But Byleth and Dimitri were careless. Without him, they'd get themselves killed. And he could never live with himself if that happened because he couldn't tolerate a minor injury.

"I'll take him, Mercie." Sylvain knelt beside him. Felix hadn't even noticed when Sylvain got there, or when the reinforcements stopped coming. That did not bode well.

"Sylvain, you're hardly in a better state." Mercedes muttered.

She wasn't wrong. Sylvain's armor was dented and badly damaged. Many spots were covered in dark blotches, no doubt blood that had dried already. His hair was matted down at his temple. And his gaze shifted between far too sharp and entirely unfocused. "No one better, then. I can't be out here much longer, either."

"Don't touch me." Felix hissed.

Sylvain frowned, expression dark. "If you go back in there, Dimitri will try to protect you. And he'll die trying."

Felix flinched, eyes flicking across the room. It wasn't hard to find his king again, the man roaring with his lance practically blazing in combat. His attacks were stronger, furious—but not frenzied like they had been when he was the Boar. No, fury wasn't right—it was drive. Dimitri _had_ to win, and he knew it.

And Dimitri was clearly making progress. But, even so, if Felix got involved and something _did_ happen, all of that progress would be for nothing.

It still burned to feel so useless.

"You have to trust them." Sylvain said, hand tentatively resting on Felix's shoulder. Felix wished he could just cut it off, but a glare would have to suffice. "They'll make it."

Redirecting his glare to the ground, Felix nodded. "Fine."

He winced as Sylvain pulled him up to his feet. That was not pleasant. At all. Even less pleasant was the fact that he had to lean _so_ much of his weight against Sylvain, lest he topple over entirely.

He had to trust in Dimitri, Felix reminded himself, trying hard not to stumble. He had to have faith that Dimitri would survive all in the end.

Otherwise, what was the point of all this?

* * *

Over time, Felix had grown familiar with this sight. With Fhirdiad stretched across below him, the people shifting past celebration and toward reconstruction. The remnants of occupation and battles were being cleaned out, most of it far past the state to reuse. Not that anyone really could, with the memories still painfully recent.

But it wasn't like they could dwell on those memories. After all, winter wasn't far away. Winter couldn't be delayed just because people were tired of war.

And if it was harsh here, it was going to be worse in Fraldarius. The war had been far enough away to avoid physical hardship, but the loss of so many soldiers, of valuable resources, and of their Duke was just as damaging. Felix would have a lot to do to help his home recover.

He sighed. The endless meetings, bottomless paperwork, sniveling nobles . . . it was going to be awful. Horribly, miserably boring. He could never go back to the time where the only thing he ever really wanted to do was fight. Now he was going to be like his father, just dictating what needed to be done, only involved in the worst situations where the manpower was needed. But, like his father, he also had to take it seriously, if he wanted his people to thrive. And, loathe as he was to accept the role meant for his father and his brother, he wanted to do it right.

Of course, it wasn't like he entirely had a choice the last few weeks. It had been nothing _but_ diplomacy, standing beside Dimitri as they tried to reorganize the nobles and devise a reconstruction plan. Felix couldn't exactly hide from his position, finding himself useless in the Training Ground.

He glanced down at his arm with a scowl. It would heal, eventually, so long as he kept its bandaging clean and let it stay in the sling. Edelgard had shattered it to such a point that magic could do little but stave of infection and blood poisoning. If he was careful, he'd be able to fight again. Careful meaning not with a sword in his hand—which was far more agonizing than the injury itself.

"How are you feeling?" Dimitri's voice was soft, rumbling in a way that meant he still hadn't entirely shaken off sleep. Felix was a bit too annoyed to look at him, still bitter from the last meeting, choosing instead to ignore the movement behind him. If Dimitri was bringing food to placate him, it wasn't going to work.

"You should worry about yourself." Felix rolled his eyes. "I'm not the one who nearly bled out because he wanted to pull out a dagger _in his chest_ without a healer nearby."

"It was my shoulder--"

"That isn't the point." To be fair, he was probably more bitter about that dagger being the one Dimitri had given Edelgard _years_ ago. But it was like the man was the arbiter of his own destruction sometimes, and was still too foolish to even see it. It would be a miracle if he survived while Felix was gone.

" _I'm_ not the one still recovering." Dimitri stepped up beside him, leaning his weight against the stone railing.

Felix snorted. "You don't have to remind me."

"I just--"

"I'm staying here till it's healed." Felix grumbled, trying not to imagine the ever-growing paperwork just waiting for him back home. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

Dimitri blinked, expression thoughtful. "I wouldn't mind you staying longer." He mused. His fingers tapped against the stone, pausing only when he shifted his weight to lean in close. He smiled, breath mingling with Felix's. "I'd prefer it, in fact."

Felix couldn't resist the smirk, shrinking the distance between their lips just a little bit more. "I can imagine what you'd prefer."

Dimitri hummed, closing the gap entirely. His hand found its place the small of Felix's back, pulling him closer.

Felix melted into the kiss, trying _very_ hard to remember why he was annoyed in the first place. He curled his fingers into Dimitri's cape, using the leverage to push himself away. "You won't distract me, Your Majesty."

Dimitri chuckled, leaning forward to kiss him once again. But then he stopped, instead pulling away.

Felix narrowed his eyes. Dimitri usually wasn't bashful when it came to their time together, at least not anymore. And yet here he was, pink from his ears down to his collarbone. He even scratched at the back of his neck, looking at anything _but_ Felix.

" _What_." Felix growled.

Dimitri's gaze flicked to Felix before looking away again. He pressed his lips together. And then everything came out in a torrent. "I tried to get it repaired but it seems no one knows how and truly I went to every shop that would possibly do but--"

Felix clapped his good hand over Dimitri's mouth. "When I take my hand away," he grumbled, "you're going to talk sense. Right?"

Dimitri nodded.

With a sigh, Felix removed his hand, letting it settle on his hip instead. "Well?"

Dimitri took a step back, looking entirely reluctant about the whole thing. Slowly, he moved back to the table in Felix's room, where a covered object had been placed. He motioned to it, expression grim.

Curiosity more potent than his irritation, Felix stepped closer. With no hesitation, he pulled the covering back. Beneath it was a sword. More specifically, pieces of a sword.

Felix let his eyes fall over it. The blade had been broken into two pieces. It was cleaned, but that did little to hide the deep gashes and burns in the metal. Most of it would be impossible to repair and recover, even by the best blacksmith. Felix's lip twitched, shifting up toward the hilt (which was a _third_ piece).

And _that_ made this impossible to mistake this blade for any other.

Felix rubbed his face. "You broke my sword."

"Yes." Dimitri fidgeted. "I tried to get it repaired, but--"

" _How_ did you break my sword?"

Dimitri stiffened. "Against Edelgard, after you left the battle. She," he looked away, "she became desperate. And I was too slow with the lance. So I . . ."

Felix rubbed his face. "Fine."

But Dimitri kept going, chuckling weakly. "It probably doesn't help, but it did save my life."

"Dimitri." Felix scowled, tugging down hard at Dimitri's cape. "A broken sword is better than a dead king."

"Oh. . ." Dimitri blinked. Slowly, his expression shifted into something more relaxed, at ease. His laugh had a little more life to it. "That's . . . um . . . good."

Felix rolled his eyes, returning his attention to the broken sword and covering it once more. It was a real shame, for such a wonderful blade to meet this fate. But it would have been worse if the blade survived and Dimitri didn't. So he could get over it. Eventually.

"I'm sure I'll never live this down." Dimitri said, smile slight. "I still owe you from the last one."

Of course he remembered. Felix snorted, shaking his head. "Forget it. It's just a sword."

Felix found himself spun around rather quickly, pressed between the table and Dimitri. He resisted the urge to bite Dimitri's finger as it was used to tilt his chin up.

"Maybe," Dimitri hummed, leaning in again, "maybe I want to make it up to you."

Felix tilted his head, intrigued. "I have a few ideas . . ."

Dimitri smiled, going for another kiss.

Felix leaned away, amused at the pout on Dimitri's lips. "You could _actually_ address the documents you've been ignoring and leaving for me. Or perhaps you could meet with your nobles and handle their complaints. Or you could take more than five seconds when considering the propositions for queen. Or, if you really desire a challenge, get Sylvain to stop flirting with the staff while they're repairing the castle."

Dimitri gaped. With a groan, he dropped his head on Felix's good shoulder. "I was expecting something more . . . um . . ."

Felix smirked, almost able to feel Dimitri's blush through his clothes. He let his smile fall into something more neutral as he pulled away. "Perhaps once you're done with those, then you can _properly_ make it up to me."

He ducked out from Dimitri's grasp, sauntering toward the door. He didn't have to look to know Dimitri was watching.

"Preferably _before_ I return to Fraldarius."

He didn't hide his smile as he heard Dimitri stumble behind him to follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so my Dimilix fic comes to an end! I really appreciate all the feedback you guys have given me this whole way--it really helped drive me to finish it! So thank you!
> 
> I hope I get to write more Dimilix in the future . . . but I may or may not have used all the ideas I had in mind . . .We'll see!

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have all my chapters outlined like I usually do. But this for sure will be less than 10 chapters.   
> Please please please let me know what you think!
> 
> As always, come bother me on Twitter [@kayisdreaming ](https://twitter.com/kayisdreaming). And many thanks to [@EmperorAnzi ](https://twitter.com/EmperorAnzi) for helping me with the concept.


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